


Owning Your Destiny

by EastWind221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, But with a happy ending, Does that make sense?, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I don't really know what to put in here, I'm sure I've forgotten something important, M/M, Minor (sort of) character death, Mycroft/Anthea is canon in this story... but it's only in the background, There is love in the air, ie. an important character but not really a protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EastWind221B/pseuds/EastWind221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Sherlock Holmes of the Baker S clan had just turned 21. That meant many things, but the most important one was that there was going to be a competition to win his hand. Three princes had accepted to take part in that abominable challenge. But he wasn't ready to give up his destiny so easily! </p><p>Among tests, evil plans, and conversations in the moonlight maybe Sherlock would end up changing his mind, though.</p><p>Maybe...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is loosely based on the Disney movie The Brave (2012). When I saw the film for the first time, it was more like a “what if” than anything else for me: what if Merida hadn't behaved like that, what if Sherlock was Merida (I'm in Johnlock hell, I'm always thinking about those two)... and so on. I started to plan seriously this plot last summer, but because of my laziness didn't write more than one chapter. Now, after persistent urging from some very special people (you know I'm talking about you... *wiggling my eyebrows*), I've finally ended it.
> 
> I want to dedicate this story to three of my friends, without whom I would never have completed it: Marta (aka martafresh on tumblr), who also was my BETA (thank you again and again!), Sara, who has helped me develop a reliable plot (not without effort), and my little sister Giulia, who has listened patiently to all my complaints.  
> You are amazing, as always!
> 
> You'll probably notice I use a lot of original lines from the show. I've drawn largely from the transcripts made by ArianeDeVere: go and check them at arianedevere.livejournal.com.  
> They are flawless!
> 
> About the background, I must warn you we are in the Middle Ages... but of course homosexuality isn't a crime. It's a liberty I had to take in order to portray Johnlock freely. But for the rest, I'm quite sure (or at least I hope) I was faithful to the actual features of that historical period: you will find crusades, a lot of Christian references, and all the other medieval things you want.
> 
> Obviously I don't own Sherlock (or The Brave): Johnlock would have already happened in the first series if I did!

It was a beautiful morning: birds were twittering, a lovely breeze was blowing and a warm sun was shining in the clear sky. Everyone seemed to be happy and relaxed... except for one single person. Prince Sherlock had just turned 21. That meant he could now travel outside the clan territory without his brother's consent. But he also had to get married and soon. Being the King's brother he wasn't allowed to choose for himself. There was going to be a competition. A COMPETITION to win his hand, to win his life, to win his destiny. There was nothing he could do. He had tried to protest, to escape. He even begged (and he never did that), but he was desperate. He craved to be free, free from all the restraints being part of the Royal Family involved. His dream was to become a detective, but not a simple one. He longed to be a consulting detective, the only one in the known world. He had invented the title (and was very proud of it, thank you very much). But the competition was inevitable: it was a very ancient tradition, thus there was nothing to be done. After months and months of sulking he had resigned himself to be treated as cattle and to be owned by someone else.

Because of his rank the possible husbands were not common people. They were other princes. PRINCES from other clans! Boring people that lived boring lives in boring palaces surrounded by boring courts! Dull, dull, DULL!

 

 

Suddenly drums started playing: it was the time. Every single person belonging to the Baker S clan was in front of the castle for the competitors' presentation. Three clans had accepted the invitation and now their three princes were ready to begin with the ceremonial.

 

"Welcome to all of you - King Mycroft was not a sociable person but after his wedding everyone agreed Queen Anthea had softened him - I am pleased you have all arrived without troubles. Now it's the moment you introduce yourselves to my dear brother Sherlock. But firstly I'd like to remind you the rules. You are going to pass four challenges: everyone of you have to choose one, according to his best assets. Prince Sherlock has already pointed out the fourth one: a game of riddles. A bit unusual but you probably know Sherlock is not ordinary in the least. I will personally draw the order in which you'll have to face them, completely by chance, so nobody would be favoured. There would be points for every test: four points to the first classified, three for the second, two for the third, and one for the fourth. In the end the one of you who would have gained more points will be the winner. Now, you can introduce yourselves and your companions."

 

The first prince was tall, with chestnut hair. He was not handsome nor seemed particularly clever.

"Ay, my Lord. I am Prince Anderson of Dino clan. I've come with young Sir Dimmock as my equerry. I am here to win Prince Sherlock's hand and I'm sure I will not be disappointed. The test I propose is running."

 

There was a loud applause and then the second competitor started talking.

"Well, well. I am Prince Moriarty of IOU Clan. I am here with my loyal friend Sir Moran. There's no point in saying I will return to my land with Prince Sherlock. – A sly grin showed up on his face. - Regarding the competition, I challenge all of you with a fight with swords, my Lord."

 

Prince Moriarty was smaller than Anderson but more good-looking. He had dark hair and chocolate-brown eyes. His voice sounded like a mellow melody, but something sinister seemed to be hidden under his striking appearance.

 

The last prince was the shortest but the most athletic one. He had sandy hair and ocean-blue eyes. He stood in some sort of military stance but something in him was not right. Sherlock was observing him from the very beginning. He didn't know what was attracting him, but he couldn't take his eyes away from the man. He had deduced Prince "Charming" had recently been fighting in a war and had been injured during it, in his left shoulder. In order to know more he needed data. Therefore he had to wait (boring!).

 

"I am Prince John Watson of UMQRA clan. I am accompanied by the brave and faithful Sir Lestrade. As for my challenge I choose bow. Let me thank you, my Lord, for your kind invitation. And I wish you a very happy birthday, Prince Sherlock".

 

Oh... there was something else Sherlock had now discovered on Prince John: his smile could light up even the darkest day.

But now was not the moment to be enchanted by two sapphire blue eyes and a breathtaking smile.

 

"Good, very good. I, King Mycroft of Baker S Clan, am now able to decl..."

 

"Wait, there's still another competitor!"

 

Sherlock had jumped off the stage and was now standing next to Prince John. He had planned this move for weeks and it had now come the moment to reclaim his freedom.

 

"I am Prince Sherlock of Baker S clan. I am here with my cunning friend Mr Wiggins. I have already told you my challenge. And yes, I am going to win back my hand, my life, and my destiny, Mycroft."

 

Nobody was talking. The silence was so deep that you could have heard a feather fall. All eyes were on Sherlock and all mouths were wide open because no one was expecting this outcome at all. Never something like that had happened before.

 

"Sherlock, what are you doing? Come back on the stage this instant!"

"I'm not coming back! I want to be free from all your bonds. I want to own my destiny."

"You can't do that! And if you don't cooperate, I'm going to force you. Don't delude yourself, young boy. Guards! Take Prince..."

 

"Stop!"

 

Queen Anthea had married Mycroft because of a pact between their clans, but had come to love him (and he her). At the same time, she cared deeply for her brother-in-law. She was an only child and had always wanted a sister or a brother. Therefore, given the opportunity, she had become Sherlock's confidant and protector. She was the only one able to mediate between the two brothers. She understood Mycroft's need to follow traditions, but wanted Sherlock to preserve his extraordinary individuality. Moreover everyone respected her: if Queen Anthea decided something, no one dared to contradict her.

 

"Stop! There is nothing in the rules that forbid Sherlock to do this. The competitors must be princes and must be unattached. And Sherlock is a prince and an unattached one. Thus he can take part to the competition."

 

"But... but... - Mycroft was all red and didn't know what to say. He loved his younger brother and wanted him to be happy. But he couldn't go against his nature and that involved strictly following every single law and tradition. - Anthea, you know that THIS would be against protocol".

"Yes, I know it's a bit unorthodox, but it doesn't formally contradict the rules and I think a bit of modernity is only going to do us good".

Anthea seemed fixed in her opinion.

 

Mycroft turned towards Sherlock and the other princes and declared: "Since it appears not to be against our laws I accept Prince Sherlock as a competitor. But the challenges should now be five: I'll choose another one in order to be equal. If some of you wants to withdraw from the contest, after the recent development, he is now free to do it".

 

Lord Anderson was shocked. He was complaining loudly with his companions and gesticulating widely. At Mycroft's words he stopped and proclaimed: "Even though I don't believe it is entirely fair to let Prince Sherlock participate, I'm staying here, sure to win".

"Well, I am... I am... delighted to hear it (?)”.

It was clear King Mycroft didn't particularly appreciate Lord Anderson's qualities. And who, in their right mind, could? He appeared a bit dumb and underhand.

 

“Now, Lord Moriarty?"

"My Lord, I understand your motives, thus I support your decision and Sherlock's bravery."

While saying that, he looked at Sherlock with a certain kind of malice.

At first sight Lord Moriarty was a very elegant and dignified person. But if you looked under this first shining layer, it was obvious his heart was as dark as a night without the moon or the stars shining. He always seemed to have ulterior motives. He looked more like a good old-fashioned villain than a prince.

 

"I'm glad you think so. And what is your opinion, Lord Watson?" - Mycroft continued.

"Ahem. I actually do believe Prince Sherlock has all the rights to act so. Consequently I will not withdraw myself from the competition."

 

Mycroft was at the same time pleased and annoyed.

"If that's so, I'm now announcing my challenge: weightlifting."- The king proclaimed, not without a hint of spite towards his little brother.

At the mention of this new test, Sherlock turned pale and appalled. It was not difficult to understand Prince Sherlock was not a champion in that field, with his certainly muscular yet also extremely slim frame. Mycroft glared at him and that was sufficient to silence his protests, instantly.

 

"Now that all has been settled, you can go and rest yourself till morning. Tomorrow I'm going to draw the order of the challenges and the private meetings with Prince Sherlock will start. As you well know, each one of you will have one hour to better know his possible betrothed. Good night."

 

Having said that King Mycroft and Queen Anthea retired themselves leaving an astonished crowd and four princes with very different states of mind.

Lord Anderson was very disappointed and longed a bath and a good night's sleep.

Lord Moriarty was very pleased: the game was starting to be (finally) interesting!

Lord Watson was divided between contradictory feelings: he was relieved the prince turned out not to be a mere puppet (and if he had to be sincere, the fact he was also extremely attractive hadn't passed unnoticed). But he also felt sorry for Prince Sherlock: living in a cage was terrible and he didn't want anybody to suffer that.

Prince Sherlock was satisfied his scheme had worked (thanks mostly to Anthea, he had to admit) and now there was a chance. He could see himself free, looking for clues, investigating all around the country, solving the most complicated cases. Lord Watson was intriguing, certainly, but nothing and no one was worth losing his liberty for.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

The next morning the sun was shining brightly. There was a large crowd gathered outside the castle waiting for King Mycroft's announcement. Suddenly the whole Royal Family and the three foreign princes came out. Everybody stood there silent, in trepidation. 

 

"Good morning to you all. I'm here to reveal the order of the challenges. So, the order is: running, riddles, weightlifting, swords, and bow as the final one. As for the individual meeting, Lord Anderson is going to be the first, Lord Moriarty the second, and eventually Lord Watson. Tomorrow morning the competition is to begin with running, and then so on, day by day."

 

After King Mycroft's little speech everyone returned to their daily occupations, while Lord Anderson and Prince Sherlock went to have their compulsory conversation.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

"So, Prince Sherlock, what are your main interests?". 

Lord Anderson tried to be affable, but Sherlock could not prevent the boredom that overcame him. Especially because Anderson after his short answer ("Solving crimes and studying the composition of all the varied substances") started babbling about how he liked alchemy and magic too.

Alchemy?!? MAGIC?!?!?

 

At the end of the established hour Sherlock had arrived to some conclusions: Anderson was basically a moron, was not going to win the competition (far from it!), was only a vain prick and a moron (yes, he was repeating himself, but it was true!).

 

Now, Lord Moriarty was waiting for him. Hooray...

Even if he had tried he would not have been able to sound convincing.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

"Oh, Lord Holmes, I'm so glad you came to visit us." - That was the greeting Sherlock received from a very pleased-with-himself Lord Moriarty.

"Don't be. I can't avoid it. I'm obliged to do so."

"Yes, I know... I know. But we could have fun all the same. Oh you don't realize how amazing we could be. Because, you know, we're just alike, you and I, except you're on the side of the angels."- Lord Moriarty said with a mischievous grin on his face.

"And you aren't, are you?"- Sherlock asked, raising one of his eyebrows.

"Oh, Sherlock... can I call you Sherlock, can't I?"

"No, actually you can't!"- The young prince deadpanned rudely.

 

"Well, Lord Holmes... don't insult your intelligence. Of course I'm not on the side of the angels! I prefer to be naughty. Very naughty, you know. It's much more satisfying."- While saying that he scanned Sherlock's figure from head to toe with a telling gaze.

 

Sherlock was left with a sense of general uneasiness and so promptly said: "Well, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them. Want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you."

"Oh, you are even better than what I hoped. So good, so good.”- The foreign lord exclaimed, grinning enthusiastically.

 

After this little bickering, they spent the compulsory hour in utter silence (*awkward*), wandering near the castle.

 

“The hour's passed, I think”- Sherlock cried out after a while, with a hint of relief in his voice.

“Well, I’d better be off then. So nice to have had a proper chat. Ciao, LORD Sherlock Holmes."

And with that he was gone.

 

Lord Moriarty was certainly more interesting than Anderson, but much more disturbing. He was clever and cunning. He must be careful of him, in particular during the game of riddles.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Lord Watson was waiting for him under a big oak near the gate of the castle. The sun was shining on his head, so that it seemed that his hair was glimmering with its own light.

 

"Good morning, Lord Holmes. I thought you could take me on a tour of the village. What do you think? Does that sound nice to you?" - While pronouncing those words, Lord Watson had turned towards Sherlock with a warm smile and twinkling eyes, blue like bluebells in summer.

 

Sherlock was amazed.

"Well, I'd love that."

 

John kept smiling at him and his eyes lit up, as if the sun was not moving around the earth but had stop on his face. (Yes, he had learned that notion eventually, though he was going to delete it as soon as possible).

"Very good. Lead the way."

 

The hour passed very quickly, exploring the woods and all the alleys of the little village nearby. They talked about everything: John's adventures in the war, his injury, his family, his experiences as a doctor. And Sherlock, surprisingly, revealed details about himself: he told John about his parents' death in a fire, Queen Anthea's arrival, his rivalry with Mycroft.

 

"And you should know that I want to become a detective. You see, I'm pretty good at deductions, and I know everyone thinks I'm a freak for this. But I don't care. I love it and it makes me feel truly myself, free, and... good."

"Well, Lord Holmes..."

"Please call me Sherlock"

"Ok... Sherlock. Well, first of all don't let anyone call you a freak. You are NOT one! Second of all, I don't know how good you are at deducing but if becoming a detective is your dream, don't let anyone stop you. ANYONE! Have you understood?".

 

John was now very serious. Sherlock could not but look at him with his mouth wide open. He hadn't been expecting that answer. John had revealed himself to be anything but ordinary.

 

"Lord Watson...".

"Oh, if I can call you Sherlock, you must call me John."

"Right... John... Would you like seeing me deducing?" - Sherlock asked, even though he was nearly sure he would hear a refusal.

 

"I'd be glad to do that!" - John replied immediately.

Sherlock was stunned and only managed to whisper: "Perfect. Come with me".

 

 

Sherlock and John were now running as young scholars towards the centre of the village. One hour had not been enough and other two had quickly passed already. But they didn't seem willing to say goodbye yet.

 

They found themselves in front of the main inn (Angelo's).

Sherlock was greeted by the waiter and soon they were seated at a table enjoying a delicious dessert (Angelo knew perfectly well his prince had a sweet tooth).

 

"Well, this is amazing but you promised me some deductions" – John mentioned after a little while.

"Are you sure? You aren't going to run away shouting insults at me, are you?"

"Hey, Sherlock, keep calm. If I found them too strange, I would stop you, gently, and we can speak of other stuff."

 

While declaring that, John had brought his hand on Sherlock's one in a reassuring gesture.

Sherlock was certain he was NOT blushing.

 

"Well... - He stuttered - what do you think of the man there, with the old woman?"

"They seem to be mother and son."

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

"Oh... ok. Show off then."

 

"First of all, we can probably call them the sentimental widow and her son, the unemployed fisherman. Look at the robe he’s wearing. Hardly worn. Clearly he’s uncomfortable in it. Maybe it’s because of the material; more likely the hideous decoration. We might assume it's a gift, probably Christmas. So he wants to impress his mother. Why? Almost certainly money. He’s treating her to a meal but his own portion is small."

 

"Maybe he’s just not hungry." - John tried to give a clue.  
"No, small plate. A bit of soup and no more. He’s practically licked it clean. She’s nearly finished her roast. If she’d treated him, he’d have had as much as he wanted. He’s hungry all right, and not well off. You can tell that by the state of his tights and shoes."

  
“How do you know she’s his mother?” - John cried out confused.  
"Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but mother’s more likely. Now, he was a fisherman. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive... fish hooks. They’re all quite old now, which suggests he’s been unemployed for some time. Thus he’s turned to his widowed mother for help."

"Widowed?”

"Yes, obviously. She’s got a man’s wedding ring on a chain round her neck. Clearly her late husband’s and too big for her finger. She’s well-dressed but her jewellery’s cheap. She could afford better, but she’s kept it. It’s sentimental."

 

Finished his train of thoughts, Sherlock shut up, ready to be insulted. John was silent for some seconds and then...

 

"That... was amazing"

"Do you genuinely think so?" - Sherlock couldn't believe his ears.  
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."  
"That’s not what people normally say."

"Yes, we've established that. But they are wrong. They're idiots. That's fantastic and if anyone says something like this again to you, you must come to me and we'll fix this. But I must warn you... not in a nice way." - John finished with irony in his voice, but a very serious look on his face.

 

Sherlock was now certain: he was blushing as a girl having her first crush. He had to stop. He knew that caring was not an advantage (Mycroft had told him that years ago, after their parents' death). He didn't want to be restrained in any possible way. But... BUT.

 

John was watching him, a bit worried. Probably because he hadn't uttered a word in thirty seconds.

"Are you ok, Sherlock?"

"Me? Yes, yes. I'm... I'm fine." - The young prince mumbled.

"Good."

 

At that moment the bells signalling the curfew rang out (Mycroft had imposed it during the competition because he didn't want any problem).

John, surprised, exclaimed: "Oh, is it so late? I hadn't realized. We should get back to the castle. Let's go."

Sherlock nodded and followed him out the inn.

 

During the walk back to the palace, they giggled and exchanged jokes, as they had known each other since childhood.

 

Arrived at the main entrance, John stopped and fixed his blue eyes on Sherlock's grey ones.

"Well, good night. It has been a very pleasant afternoon. Thank you, and remember: you are not a freak. You are a genius."

"Nobody can be that clever." - Sherlock whispered while looking at the ground.

"You can!"- John exclaimed forcefully, taking Sherlock's delicate hands in his rough tanned ones.

"Good night John. See you tomorrow."

 

Sherlock went to his room, laid in his bed, and fell asleep, smiling from the beginning to the end of his dream, where a knight with blond hair and blue eyes followed him in his adventures.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning everything had been prepared for the first challenge. King Mycroft was to give instructions and then the competition was to begin.

 

"Good morning. Today we are going to bestow the first test: running. The rules are therefore very simple: at my signal all the princes will start running following the track. After two laps, the first to cross the line will be the winner. Now, shall we begin?".

 

All the competitors seemed eager to start. They proceeded to place themselves in the right order.

John looked at Sherlock with a bright smile and whispered: "Good luck".

Sherlock mumbled something in return that sounded very much like "You too".

 

At that moment Mycroft shouted: "At the count of three.

One.

Two.

Three."

 

Sherlock didn't start really well; only John was behind him. He had previously deduced that Anderson was really good at this activity, while John was worse than the others because of his build, that made him more suitable for other sports, and because of a previous limp he had heard Sir Lestrade mentioning that morning. Moriarty though seemed to be at his level, even under those conditions.

 

Finished the first lap, Anderson could now be sure of his win. Meanwhile Sherlock was reaching Moriarty, but John also was nearer and nearer. If he wanted to at least come second he had to try harder. He summoned up all his remaining strength and finally overcame Moriarty.

It appeared that John was doing the same because now he was next to the the IOU-clan lord. But Sherlock couldn't focus on that: Anderson had already crossed the line and he was close to finish too.

 

 

He had arrived second. He was not completely satisfied but it was better than nothing. While pondering that and other thoughts, Sherlock turned towards the track. The last two participants were now to finish their run. They crossed the line, but he wasn't able to discern who had arrived third and who fourth. King Mycroft was whispering with his court. After a little bit, he coughed loudly and everyone was quiet.

"It's now time to announce the positions. Lord Anderson is the winner of this first test."

There was a large applause.

"Ahem." Silence. "Lord Sherlock Holmes was the second to cross the line."

Another applause, even greater than the first. But everyone was really interested only in the last two princes.

"Now. Regarding Lord Watson and Lord Moriarty, it was difficult to ascertain a lead between the two. But after confronting myself with my faithful retinue, we've decided Lord Watson came before Lord Moriarty."

The large crowd was muttering: someone agreed with the King, someone else declared it was unequal and so on.

"This is my decision and nobody is allowed to protest it."

King Mycroft had spoken with such gravity that no one dared to utter a single word.

"Good. Lord Anderson has now four points, Sherlock three points, Lord Watson two points, and Lord Moriarty only one point. I think it's time to rest. Tomorrow you are going to strain your minds, gentlemen. May you have a happy continuation."

 

Said that the King retired himself, leaving the princes free for the rest of the day.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

In the dead of night, when all the tired inhabitants of the castle were sleeping, the winds no longer whispered through the woods surrounding the palace, nor you could hear the flowing of the near river. The stars were moving in silent order, and peace was laying on the ground, on the flocks and herds, on the multicoloured birds and fishes, and on all the other animals, that during the day came out from their shelters and gave life to the forest. Sherlock was alone awake: he couldn't find sleep or ease. Quiet fled his mind. His heart was troubled (it was actually his brain, but he was being romantic for once in his life).

He was satisfied with how the competition was going: he hadn't won in that first challenge, but tomorrow was his day. He was unbeatable in riddles! Lord Anderson wasn't a threat at all, while Moriarty could probably cause some problems, but he was sure he'd be able to overcome those.

No, the problem resided in Sherlock himself. Only a day knowing an ordinary human being, who appreciated his Sherlockiness and didn't want to change him, was apparently enough to make him doubt his whole plan. Lord Watson was brave, wise, kind. Briefly, all he desired.

And it didn't help the fact he was practically Prince Charming.

 

“Who is this Prince Charming you're talking about?”.

Sherlock froze on his spot near the great oak tree. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn't noticed someone had approached him, nor the fact that he was thinking aloud. He soon recovered from the shock, and turned with an angry look to see who had dared to disturb him. And then he found himself face to face with his problem in person.

John was glowing under the moonshine. Sherlock noticed unconsciously that John's hair seemed silver under this light, while his eyes had the colour of a waterfall in the mid of winter.

 

“Oh... that was nothing. An old fairy tale. Nothing of importance” - Sherlock stuttered uneasily.

“If you say so... - John smirked, with a knowing smile – Well, why are you here, wandering alone in the woods? Don't you need to sleep?”.

“I could say the same to you, dear Lord Watson. - Sherlock deadpanned at him – But if you want to know, I don't require sleep very often. Eating and sleeping slow me down. It's just transport.”

“What? Sherlock? You can't do that! It's bad for your health!” - The older man stated vigorously.

“No, it's not. And why, though I think I can deduce it, are YOU here?” - Sherlock asked trying to turn the tables.

“Don't think changing the subject is going to work with me. I'm not going to ignore this fact now that I know about it. I'll personally check you'll eat and sleep regularly, at least while I'm here” - The foreign prince admonished sternly.

“If you are so keen...” - Sherlock snorted, but in the inside he was very pleased someone seemed to actually care enough.

“As for your question – John continued, still with a concerned gaze – I couldn't sleep. Nightmares, you know”.

 

John stayed silent for a bit after that, looking at the stars. Then he started suddenly and said: “Sherlock, yesterday you deduced those two people at the inn. I was wondering if you could do that with everyone?”.

“Of course, I can John. How could I call myself a consulting detective if I couldn't?” - The I-am-the-best-don't-even-question-it detective replied in a rush.

“Well, yes... of course. - The other man giggled sheepishly – So, can you do me? I-I-I mean... – John stuttered blushing at his choice of words - Can you deduce me?”.

“Certainly” - The dark-haired prince affirmed, unaware of John's reasons of embarassment.

“Well... so?”

“So what, John?” - Sherlock cried out, not without a bit of impatience.

“So, deduce me. Tell me everything you've got”.

 

Sherlock was silenced: he had deduced John at first sight, but he didn't want to take a risk. Yes, John had been astonished the other time, but he hadn't been exposing his deepest secrets then.

“Don't worry. I promise I would not call you a freak or run away. If I'm uncomfortable, I'll stop you in a kind way. Go on!” - John tried to reassure him.

“Okay. But remember it was you that initiated this.” - Sherlock surrendered.

John nodded and put himself in a listening position.

 

“You're a knight, recently returned from a crusade in the Holy Land. You've been wounded in the shoulder, and had had another form of injury in your leg. And you don't get along with your sister.”

 

John looked bewildered: “How can you possibly know that?”.

“Easy – A smug Sherlock replied - Tanned face but no tan above the wrists. You’ve been abroad, but not on holiday or on a pilgrimage. Your family position and the way you hold yourself says knight. You were shot with an arrow in your left shoulder. You had a limp till recently (I've heard Sir Lestrade mentioning it). I'd say it was not due to an actual wound, but I'd better presume that the original circumstances of the injury were traumatising and led you to have a sort of limp for a while. Wounded in action, then. So: where does a knight get himself a suntan and wounded in action these days? Holy Land and the crusades.”

 

John didn't utter a word. He stayed there, gaping like a fish.

Sherlock, pleased with himself, continued.

“Then there’s your sister, the actual Queen of your clan now. You told me a bit about her yesterday, but not much. However I can deduce everything from your sword.”

“My sword?”

“Yes, your sword. It’s expensive, well-forged, and sharpened. You’re a great bowman, you wouldn’t waste money on this, when you can spend them on a new bow. It’s a gift, then. Scratches. Not just one, but many over time. It’s been in the same trunk as other swords and weapons. The man in front of me wouldn’t treat his one luxury item like this. It’s had a previous owner, then. The next bit’s easy. You know it already.”

“The engraving?” - John murmured.

 

“Yes: _To Harriet Watson. May this sword protect you. Clarence_.

Harriet Watson, your sister. She's given you her old sword. A not very ordinary gift for a woman, but from what you've told me about her, she's not an ordinary lady at all. Now, Clarence. Who’s Clarence? The expense of the sword says husband, not intended. So, it's KING Clarence now. And in fact this sword seems so expensive, only a king could buy it. He’s given this to her recently: the blade seems fairly new. I'd say six months old at the most. So, it’s a marriage in trouble, then... six months on she’s just given it away. If he’d left her, she’d have kept the sword, probably. People do, sentiment. But no, she wanted rid of it. She left him, even though it sounds odd. But when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth. She gave the sword to you; that says she wants you to stay safe and to remember her. She’s worried about you. You’ve come here to conquer a husband right after returning home, and you're here without her. That says you’ve got problems with her. Maybe you liked his husband... But when you told me about your family yesterday you didn't even mention him. So you don't have a very close relationship with the current king of your clan. Therefore it's more likely you don’t like your sister's drinking.”

 

“No, wait. - John stopped his train of deductions - How can you possibly know about the drinking?”

“Shot in the dark. Good one, though. - Sherlock was (if possible) even smugger than before - Hilt: tiny scuff marks on it. Since she was usually drunk, it wasn't safe letting her use a weapon like this. So they took it away from her, and secured it with metal chains and a padlock. Thus, the marks on the hilt.”

 

Sherlock was panting after this long series of deductions. He didn't know how John would react now, but he had a nice feeling about it.

John was staring at him, only tiny whimpers leaving his mouth. Then, after a while, he managed to stutter: “I don't care if I'm repeating myself, because that was amazing. Brilliant, fantastic, extraordinary, awesome, fascinating, incredible, marvelous, shocking, stunning, unbelievable... I don't know other synonyms or I'd say them.”

Sherlock couldn't contain the blush that was now adorning his prominent cheekbones. John was not angry with him! He was overwhelmed, but tried to say something anyway.

“Ahem. Did I get anything wrong?”

“I went to the Holy Land to fight the Infidels. During my time there I was injured in the shoulder and developed a mysterious limp, which had magically disappeared when I started the journey towards your castle. Harriet and me don’t get on, never have. Queen Harriet and King Clarence are living separetely now, split up three months ago. He is still trying to keep up appearances, but I don't know how this is all going to end. Harriet’s a drinker.”

“Spot on, then. I didn’t expect to be right about everything.”

“But, about my wound, it was not an arrow. I was shot with a crossbow.”

“A crossbow?” - Sherlock cried out surprised.

“Yes, but that's not the point...”

“A crossbow!” - The dark-haired prince continued without acknowledging John's protests.

“No, seriously...”

“Oh! There’s always something!”

“Yes, we've established that. - John was saying with a condescending look – The point, however, is that you are very very clever, Sherlock”.

That was what finally hushed the detective-prince.

 

“Well, thank you, John”.

“You're welcome. But now it's time to retire, or tomorrow we won't be able to wake up in time for our test”.

At the mention of the competition, Sherlock's mood instantly darkened.

“Yes, you're right. We must go.”

John, unaware of the change in the atmosphere, went on: “And if I remember correctly, I promised you I'll look after you. Sleeping and eating.”

How a small sentence could lighten him up immediately was beyond Sherlock's knowledge at the moment.

“Oh, yes, you did. And you're a man of his word, so you have to keep your promise” - Sherlock stated with glint in his eyes.

 

While talking, they were approaching the gate.

“Well, this is where we part. Goodnight, Sherlock. And try to sleep!”

“I'll try, but I can't promise you anything.”

“I'm okay with that. - John giggled – See you tomorrow morning”.

“Yes. Goodnight, John”.

 

Sherlock followed John's figure with his eyes until he was able. Then sighed deeply and retired to his room. Faithful to his word, he tried to fall asleep, and eventually managed to. He dreamed of swords, arrows, crossbows, and a knight in a shining armour, with hair the colour of honey, and eyes blue like the sea.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Not one of the two princes had noticed a shadow following them and listening to their conversation. That shadow wasn't a ghost (There are no ghosts! - Sherlock would tell you quite forcibly if asked). It was Sir Sebastian Moran, Lord Moriarty's first knight. He was a well-built, blond man, with big green eyes. He had a deep scar on his left cheek, and didn't talk much. He had been under Lord Moriarty's command for years and was a very loyal warrior. That night he had had the order of monitoring Prince Sherlock, so he had followed him outside the gate and stayed during the talk with John. Now he was returning to Lord Moriarty's room in order to report the new information he had acquired.

 

“My dear Sebastian, have you discovered something?” - Moriarty asked as soon as Sir Moran had got into the room.

“Ay, my lord. I followed the young prince into the dark woods and then waited and waited in the cold air for what seemed like numberless hours. Then...”

“Do you think you can get to the point without poetry, Sebastian?” - His master interrupted his recounting, impatiently.

“Ay, my lord. Sorry, my lord. - Moran replied, lowering his eyes – I waited for a bit and then the other prince... the short one, with blond hair... came and they started talking.”

“I presume you're referring to Lord John Watson” - Moriarty specified.

“Yes, my lord. That's his name!” - The warrior yelled enthusiastically.

“And...?” - Moriarty prompted, raising his left eyebrow.

“And I heard their conversation. Lord Watson was recently wounded in his left shoulder, and had had some sort of injury in his legs. But I didn't understand that part really well”.

“Sebastian – The lord huffed – you are digressing again. Please don't change the subject!”.

“Ay, my lord. Sorry, my lord. - The knight uttered rapidly – So, as I was saying, we know Lord Watson's pressure points! He also doesn't get along with his sister, who is an alcoholic, but she's not here so we can't use that against him now, I reckon”.

“Very good, Sebastian – Moriarty acknowledged – And what about our precious Prince Sherlock?”.

“Well, he didn't reveal anything about himself. But I can maintain with certainty that our sweet prince is completely besotted with Lord Watson. And I think it is not unrequited love, my lord.” - Sebastian claimed proudly.

“Good, very good. - The dark-haired prince shouted with triumph in his eyes – Oh, you've rather shown your hand there, my dear dear Prince Sherlock. You were as always really useful Sebastian. With these new pieces of information we should be able to overcome all the other competitors. Lord Anderson is an idiot, so he's easily beaten. As for Lord Watson we are going to put pressure on him: both physically and mentally. We must force him to strain his shoulder and at the same time annoy him with mentions of his sister, his unworthiness as a knight, and our dear Sherlock of course. - Moriarty was actually glowing with trepidation now – And about our prize, Prince Sherlock. We must secure he falls in love with Lord Watson, and then, when we've destroyed the brave pet, he will end himself for sure, without any external help.”

“I think that the falling-in-love-with-Watson part is well underway. Prince Sherlock had hearts as eyes this evening!” - Moran commented snickering.

“Good. It only gets the work easier for us. Now, we must sleep. We need clear minds to pursue our plan. Goodnight Sebastian” - Moriarty finished with a yawn.

“Goodnight, my lord”.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

In the dead of night, when all the tired inhabitants of the castle were sleeping, the winds no longer whispered through the woods surrounding the palace, nor you could hear the flowing of the near river. The stars were still moving in silent order, and peace continued to lay on the ground, on the flocks and herds, on the multicoloured birds and fishes, and on all the other animals, that during the day came out from their shelters and gave life to the forest.

Even Sherlock was now sleeping, dreaming peacefully. But he didn't know what had been plotted against him and against the brave knight, who was occupying his dreams.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The competition has finally begun! Hooray!  
> I know this chapter might seem slow... but it was necessary to introduce rules and build the plot. The third one is going to be different: quicker and with more action.
> 
> Now, I feel I have to clarify some points. You might have noticed that in this story I've changed Clara's gender and name (in this story Clarence). That is due to the twisted thoughts I have about this alternate universe: in my vision of it only younger siblings could have homosexual relationships. Older brothers and sisters (in this case Mycroft and Harriet), instead, had the obligation of getting heirs, therefore the heterosexual weddings with Anthea and Clarence. To Mycroft his marriage hadn't caused problems, while Harriet's forced marriage might be one of the motives she had started to drink. So... that's one of the reasons why there isn't Mystrade (sorry)... And there is also the fact that I love Anthea a lot and wanted to give her a big part.  
> Moreover there is KING Clarence (and not KING John) because I thought that the eldest sibling could inherit the throne even if female, but it was compulsory to get a heterosexual marriage. Therefore the wedding between Harriet and Clarence, who got the title of King after the wedding, leaving John “free” to pursue a different career (in this case, becoming a knight).
> 
> Another (interesting) thing is that the beginning of the night scene resembles a passage from Virgil's Aeneid: Aen. IV, 522-532. The original lines are referred to Dido, in a inner turmoil because of her love towards Aeneas.
> 
> I hope you are enjoying this story. Let me know your opinions!


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was shining on the lawn outside the castle. Birds were twittering and a cool breeze was blowing. Baker S fortress looked like a place from fairy tales. But for the four competitors it was not the time to get lost in a pleasant fantasy. The game was to begin soon.

 

King Mycroft came out on the stage prepared for the event and, after admiring the beauty of the day, nodded and started explaining the rules.

“Good morning, princes. Today a battle of wits is waiting for you. The rules for this particular test are very simple. Each of you alternately will ask a riddle at the others. Then the other princes will write their answers on the wax tablet my servants will give each of you. You have a time limit of 10 minutes. After that, your tablets will be collected and your answers checked. If it was you who asked the riddle, for each person that gets it wrong you'd receive a point. If you guessed correctly a riddle of another competitor, you'd get two points. At the end of the round, the one with less points will be eliminated. This will repeat again till only one of you remains in play. Is that clear?” - The king finished his little speech with a very expressive glare.

“Ay, my lord” - All the princes shouted at once.

“Good. Now, I've already arranged the order in which you are going to ask your riddles. So, the first one will be Lord Moriarty, then Sherlock, after him Lord Watson, and the last one will be Lord Anderson. If there aren't any questions or problems of any kind, I will give a start to our competition.”

Everyone agreed again in unison.

“Good. So, let's begin” - Mycroft proclaimed.

 

 

Having disposed themselves in a semicircle, the princes waited for Lord Moriarty to go ahead.

After only some minutes, he got up and started to recite the following riddle.

“ _More precious than gold, but cannot be bought,_

_Can never be sold, only earned if it’s sought,_

_If it is broken it still can be mended,_

_At birth it can’t start nor by death is it ended._ ”

 

Then he sat down, not without a knowing look cast upon Sherlock, who returned the gaze confused.

But now it wasn't the time to be distracted. He had an enigma to solve!

 

John was the first to write his assumption on the tablet. He seemed sure of his answer. Meanwhile Sherlock was still a little puzzled and Anderson was muttering to himself, with a frown on his face and drops of sweat on his eyebrows. Then all of a sudden he shouted: “I've got it! I've got it! Yes!”.

All the audience looked at him skeptically. He immediately shut up and scribbled something on his wax.

 

Sherlock was now getting a bit anxious: if Anderson had been able to guess it, why couldn't he? He was on the verge of loosing it all, when he noticed an imperceptible movement coming from John.

The blond prince was gesticulating subtly with his left hand. He was drawing a line between Sherlock and himself in the air, while fixing his telling eyes into Sherlock's ones.

What did that even mean? What was John trying to tell him? Maybe the answer was something they had in common... But what could they possibly have in common? Or better... What was the thing that linked them? They were both princes. Yes.. But that or anything connected with their royal titles certainly wasn't the solution. He was baffled.

 

Wait.

 

No.

 

He had resolved the riddle. How foolish he had been! Well, the solution was something he had never experienced till recently. So his hesitation was at least understandable.

 

He wrote his word right at the end of the ten minutes. A servant collected his tablet and brought it to the king. After having read all the answers, King Mycroft lifted himself from his throne and said: “Only two of the competitors have guessed correctly. Therefore, Lord Moriarty, you have scored a point”.

Moriarty was very smug for his success and glanced at Sherlock as if sure he was the one to have lost that round.

 

The king, unaware of this exchange, carried on.

“The correct answer was FRIENDSHIP. Not fame as Lord Anderson had written. I'm afraid you've scored no points. Still, both Sherlock and Lord Watson had now two points each”.

 

Sherlock was radiant. He exchanged a glance with John, trying to express his gratitude. The other prince simply smiled at him, shaking his head with nonchalance, understanding the implied message.

 

Anderson was shocked.

“Why is it not fame?”.

“Well – Lord Moriarty stated grumpily – fame could start at birth. As a prince you must know that. You had fame even before birth!” - The “Moron!” was subtext.

“Oh, yes” - Anderson rambled, defeated.

 

 

Next it was Sherlock's turn. He sat up, cleared his voice, and declaimed:

“ _Voiceless it cries,_

_Wingless flutters,_

_Toothless bites,_

_Mouthless mutters. . .”._

 

It hadn't passed much time when all the three other contestants scrawled their hypotheses.

The tablets were gathered and the result was announced.

“Lords, you have all given the right answer, the WIND. Sherlock gets no points. Therefore the ranking is for now: Lord Watson with four points, Lord Moriarty with three points, and both Lord Anderson and Sherlock with two points. Let's go on!”.

 

 

Both John's riddle and Anderson's one were answered properly by all their opponents.

 

John had tried with “ _They come out at night without being called, and are lost in the day without_

_being stolen. What are they?_ ”, looking at Sherlock with a smile in his eyes while saying it. 

It was of course the STARS, like the ones they had seen together the night before.

 

Anderson instead had no originality at all and used a very old and well-known riddle.

“ _What goes on four feet in the morning, two feet at noon, and three feet in the evening?_ ”.

The solution was obviously MAN (idiot!).

 

 

The first round had finished and King Mycroft was to reveal the one who had to be eliminated.

“My princes, you are on fire this morning. - That comment elicited a general laugh in the audience. - However I must ask Lord Anderson to retire. You have scored only four points, while Lord Watson and Sherlock have six points each, and Lord Moriarty even seven. You have therefore gained only one point in regards of the general competition”.

“Ah. I knew this one would have been tough!” - Anderson muttered angrily.

“Well... let's start the second round!” - The king cried out, ignoring Anderson's outburst.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Lord Moriarty was again the first to go.

“ _It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,_

_Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt._

_It lies behind stars and under hills,_

_And empty holes it fills._

_It comes first and follows after,_

_Ends life, kills laughter.”_

 

Sherlock knew the solution immediately, while John seemed perplexed. The young prince wanted to help him, but didn't know how to suggest the DARK. He saw John scribbling something with a disappointed expression. It wasn't going well.

 

“I'm sorry Lord Watson, but it wasn't fear. Fear can be felt.” - The king explained after checking.

“You're right, my lord. But I was a bit baffled and didn't know what to write” - John added shrugging.

“Well, it's not a big deal. But I think now it is Sherlock's turn”.

 

 

“Ahem. My second conundrum is the following.

_This thing all things devours:_

_Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;_

_Gnaws iron, bites steel;_

_Grinds hard stones to meal;_

_Slays king, ruins town,_

_And beats high mountain down._ ”

 

Unexpectedly Lord Moriarty appeared dumbfound. Had Sherlock been finally able to crack him?

 

 

“The solution was TIME. – King Mycroft proceeded to declare. - As much as evil was a... a good guess, I'm afraid it isn't right, Lord Moriarty. That means you have only one point, Lord Watson has two, and Sherlock three. Let's end this second round, Lord Watson”.

 

“Yes. Yes... Ahem. Well. _It is black when you get it, red when you use it and white when you’re all_

_through with it. What is it?”_ . 

 

In no time Sherlock had scrawled CHARCOAL on his tablet. Lord Moriarty was also extremely quick.

 

“You have both gained two points, princes. Lord Watson with your total of two points I must ask you to withdraw.” - King Mycroft told the UMQRA-clan prince.

“I understand, my lord.” - John whispered, beaten.

“But don't despair, it's only the second day, and anyway today you have scored two points” - Mycroft tried to reassure him.

 

Sherlock was a bit downcast: he knew rationally John wasn't a master in riddles, but he had hoped till the end he would be able to beat Moriarty. He attempted to comfort John with an encouraging glance. John seemed to have grasped the feeling hidden in his eyes, because he nodded in acknowledgement before stepping away.

 

Now, into battle.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Moriarty sat up, looked at Sherlock mischieviously as if daring him to know the answer (Of course I'm going to know it! Don't challenge me, Moriarty!).

 

“ _I can start a war or end one,_

_I can give you the strength of heroes_

_or leave you powerless,_

_I might be snared with a glance,_

_but no force can compel me to stay;_

_What am I?”._

 

Okay. He had to admit he was a bit bewildered.

“Well, let's analyse the riddle then. - Sherlock thought in his Mind Palace. - Let's search the voice war... Here it is! War: a state of armed conflict between different countries or different groups within a country... yes yes! But what about the causes of war... Power? Wealth? Discording ideas? Pursuit of freedom? (Don't tell me about it!)... No, no, no, NO! No one of these is the correct answer!

 

Training and potions can give you strength or powerlessness, but not the victory in this case.

 

NO! I can't be bested by Moriarty! Oh, sure, he has a magnificent brain. I admire it. I concede it may be even be the equal of my own. But when it comes to the matter of winning my freedom with a battle of riddles... he is going to lose... short-arse!

 

Let's continue with the investigation.

Hare? Pheasant? Hawk? You can certainly catch them with a snare, but now they're going to bring me only defeat.

 

What is the thing that no force can compel to stay? No force... compel... stay...

John... John?

Well. Yes. No force, apart from winning the competition, could constrain John to remain after...

Wait. John? John!”

 

“The answer is LOVE!” - Sherlock yelled suddenly. Everyone was quiet and surprised, but no one more than Lord Moriarty himself.

“How did you guessed that?” - The stunned prince cried out.

“It was a no-brainer actually.” - Sherlock lied shamelessly.

 

 

Moriarty was still uncapable to utter a single word, while Sherlock carried on.

“Ahem. So.

_I cut through evil like a double edged sword,_

_And chaos flees at my approach. Balance_

_I single-handedly upraise,_

_Through battles fought with heart and mind,_

_Instead of with my gaze.”_

 

“What?” - Moriarty screeched.

“The riddle. My riddle.

_I cut through evil like a double edged sword,_

_And chaos flees at my approach. Balance_

_I single-handedly upraise,Through battles fought with heart and mind,_

_Instead of with my gaze.” -_ Sherlock tried again.

“Oh, yes. Of course” - Lord Moriarty perked up, and put himself in a thinking position.

 

Two minutes passed. Then other two. Then other two. And then the time was nearly finished.

 

“Peace! My answer is peace” - Lord Moriarty screamed just when time was running out.

“I'm afraid – King Mycroft stated – that your guess is incorrect. The right one is JUSTICE.”

“Clearly something you're not accustomed to” - Sherlock thought snidely, rolling his eyes.

 

 

“Lord Holmes is the winner of this second test. - King Mycroft proclaimed – The points are thus the following: Lord Watson and Lord Moriarty have four points, Lord Anderson five, and Lord Holmes seven. For today it's all. Rest your minds and bodies, tomorrow challenge is going to try your fortitude”.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

It was the dead of the night and Sherlock and John found themselves once again under the old oak tree. They had agreed to meet there after the end of the “battle of wits”.

John had been the first to arrive; Sherlock could see him under the fronds of the big tree.

 

“Hello, John.” - The dark-haired prince greeted him.

“Hello, Sherlock” - The other returned with a glowing smile.

 

They stood there, quiet, for a while. Then Sherlock started talking awkwardly.

“Listen, John. I've just wanted to tell you that... that, er ... thing that you, er, that you did. That, um... - He cleared his throat - ... you did this morning... during the first round. Well. That was, um ... good. Thank you.”

“Oh. You're welcome. It was no problem, Sherlock. Don't worry. It just didn't seem right for you to miss at the first riddle. In fact after that you actually won! I'm sure it was only a little slip”.

“No... actually... You know: I've never experienced friendship. So it was difficult for me to find that particular solution. I don't have... friends.” - Sherlock clarified embarrassed.

 

“Oh. I thought... Sorry if I presumed... But I considered us...” - John was shocked, and sheepishly tried to fix the situation.

“No... NO! Don't misunderstand me. I-I mean, I've never experienced friendship BEFORE. You know, before meeting you. I don't have friends. I've just got one.” - Sherlock struggled to calm John down (and himself too).

“Ah. Of course. Now I understand. - The smile had (luckily) returned on John's face. - So, friend Sherlock, why don't you tell me what are you going to do after the competition is finished?”.

“As you know I'm going to be a consulting detective. - John nodded. - And after that I'm going to retire and...”.

“And...?” - The blond man prompted.

 

“AndI'mgoingtokeepbees” - Sherlock blurted out in a rush.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn't quite catch that” - John chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

“I said: I'm going to retire and... I'm going to keep bees.” - The young prince repeated again slower, blushing furiously.

“Bees? Really? Why?” - Surprisingly to Sherlock, John didn't sound mocking, only curious.

“Well, bees are fascinating creatures. And they are really really useful! They can produce honey, of course, but also beeswax, royal jelly and propolis. And they are fundamental for pollination. You see...” - Sherlock started to illustrate all he knew (and it was a lot) about bees and beekeping.

 

Although that wasn't a matter that interested John very much, he listened carefully to all of Sherlock's speech, without a trace of annoyance on his face, but only with a fond and caring smile.

 

“So, you see, that's why I'm going to keep bees after the end of this useless competition.” - Sherlock concluded after a good 15 minutes.

“Yes, now I see. You were right: bees are fascinating and very useful” - John said that laughing but without any hint of derision.

“Well, your life might move a bit quicker if you were to take my word as gospel next time” - The soon-to-be detective hinted with sarcasm. But after he realized what had actually left his mouth, he immediately froze and waited for rejection.

 

“Ahh ha ha – John giggled – I'm sorry to have doubted you, my lord. I will see not to repeat this mistake again.” - He had said that in a playful manner, so Sherlock reassured himself and replied in the same fashion.

“You'd better!” - And then joined the older man in his laughing.

 

“Stop! Stop, we can’t giggle, it’s the mid of the night! Stop it!” - John cried out, when he was able to catch his breath after five minutes at least of intense laughter.

“You’re the one who started it. Don’t blame me.”

“Keep your voice down!”.

 

After a little bit, they finally calmed down. John was looking at the stars, completely absorbed in his thoughts, suddenly extremely serious.

“You know, I don't think I'll reach old age. - John started to mutter in a low and calm tone - I had always seen myself as a gallant knight, and then I thought I would have become a wise and skilled warlord. But after my wound and that odd limp, I don't think I'm really fit to do that at all”.

 

Sherlock didn't know how to respond to that. However John resumed talking soon.

 

“My parents are dead. I don't get along with my sister, or her (ex) husband. I don't have other close relatives. I've got a bunch of friends, but we are not very thick. And now I'm broken. I'm not clever, nor wise. I only had my strength, but now I've lost even that. I'm practically useless. - John swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and then proceeded with a teary voice – You know, before I learned about this whole competition, I seriously... - He stopped, swallowing again – I seriously thought of ending it. A stab or a bit of poison and... poof! All stops: pain, heartbreak, loss...”.

 

“Don't you dare say something like that again!” - Sherlock cried grabbing John by his robe, with tears streaming down his face. - “Don't you dare say something like that again! You are not allowed to think that! Ever! Have you understood?”.

“Hey, Sherlock calm down. It's in the past. And it's not like that anyone would have cared anyw...” - John tried to utter, but was silenced by a pair of lips descending on his own.

 

“You're an idiot! - Sherlock whispered, tearing away only for a moment – I would care. I CARE” - And then instantly resumed the kiss, locking their lips once again with force.

 

Sherlock didn't have any experience in kisses and similar stuff. But what he lacked in skills, he managed to compensate with enthusiasm and passion. As for John, after the first shock, he was responding to Sherlock's aggression with equal ferocity.

The kiss lasted maybe one minute, maybe ten, maybe twenty, maybe even an entire hour. What's certain is that for the two princes it seemed to last a lifetime. But nobody was considering complaining.

 

They were however human beings, so their bodies required oxygen.

John started to slow down the kiss, turning it from ferocious and passionate to soft and sweet. With a last nip on Sherlock's full bottom lip and a last peck on his cupid bow (John couldn't resist), the blond prince ended the kiss and rested their foreheads together.

 

“So... - John tried to say. - That thing... That, um... you've just done... Well. That was, um ... good.”

“Don't copy my moments of weakness. Imitate me only when I'm at my best” - Sherlock whispered still panting.

“Oh, sorry – The other man chuckled – I'll try to be more selecting in my let's-imitate-Sherlock moments”.

“Um, that's good” - Sherlock murmured with a contented sigh.

 

They stayed motionless in that position for quite a bit of time. Not one out of the two of them wanted to leave the other's arms, even though they knew they had to retire and sleep.

 

Eventually, one strong yawn from Sherlock awakened John from his blissful trance.

“I think it's time to go, Sherlock” - John muttered soon after that noise.

“Yes, yes. Now it's really late” - The other man agreed, but didn't try to move away even in the slightest from their firm embrace.

John basked himself a bit more in Sherlock's warmth and then, with one last gentle kiss, released him. He took his hand and intertwined their fingers.

 

They reached the gate in silence. John stroked Sherlock's knuckles with his thumb one last time. And then bid him goodnight.

 

Everything seemed flawless...

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello... It's me! (Sorry, but I couldn't help myself). I hope you're liking this story so far.  
> I only have to clarify that I've taken the riddles from various websites, apart from the ones with answers wind and time (from The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien), and the one with answer man (from the myth of Oedipus). Have you managed to solve them correctly? XD  
> See you next week!


	4. Chapter 4

Dawn had just passed, but in a room of the castle two men were already awake.

Lord Moriarty and Sir Moran were discussing their scheme to win the competition.

 

“Today, my lord, the test is tough: weightlifting is not as easy as you might think” - The knight was saying in a concerned manner.

“You're right, Sebastian. - Moriarty replied – But we have victory in our hands! Anderson is a doofus, and I doubt he's very strong. So he is not a problem at all.”

Sebastian hummed and nodded in agreement at the remark.

“Sherlock might be a problem tomorrow, in the fight with swords. But I plan to play with him a bit to make him lose his mind and beat him. - Sebastian nodded yet again. - As for our dear Lord Watson, I would have considered him a dangerous hindrance, but after what you've told me about his shoulder I'm sure to defeat him. He's finished!”.

 

The two (evil) friends started laughing hysterically at the thought of their sure victory.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

The sun was shining on the arena suitably fixed for weightlifting.

 

“Good morning, my dear princes. Today is the day you must prove your strength and fortitude. I hope you've all slept well and are ready to begin” - King Mycroft introduced.

“Yes, my lord. We're ready.” - The four contestants declared.

“Excellent! Let me explain the rules for this challenge then. As you can see there are five dumbbells in front of you: they are all made with different stones and metals in order to have five increasing weights. In turn you'll try to lift them. The one of you who'll be able to lift more of them will win. The first to try will be Lord Anderson, then Sherlock, next Lord Watson, and eventually Lord Moriarty. If that's all clear, we'll begin at once” - The king finished with a flourished wave of his right hand.

The princes nodded all in unison.

“Let's start, then!”

 

 

The first dumbbell didn't look particularly heavy. And indeed all the four men were able to pick it up quite easily.

 

 

The second one, however, was bigger and the difference was notable.

 

“Do you want to kill us? - Anderson panted while trying without success to move the weight. - It's impossible! No human being can lift this!”.

Eventually he gave up and stepped away, leaving the dumbbell to Sherlock.

When the grey-eyed prince was able to hoist it, Lord Anderson gaped, and then sulked for the rest of the day. John and Lord Moriarty lifted it without difficulty, too.

 

Sherlock, in spite of his external calm, was a bit anxious: this second one had already been more challenging than he previously expected. He was almost certain he was not going to win. At least he hoped John would be able to overcome Moriarty.

 

 

It was the time for the third dumbbell. Sherlock approached it with caution, put his hands on the handle, and took a deep breath. He tried to pick it up, but his arms weren't strong enough.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply again.

He could do it, he could do it!

He took another go, but was defeated by the obnoxious thing once more.

No, no, NO!

He was starting to have a panic attack. Everything became blurred and coloured dots began to appear under his eyelids. He waved dangerously on his feet, while his ears were catching only muffled noises.

In one last attempt to regain his composure he opened his eyes and looked in front of himself, ready to put all his strength at use, even if the danger of getting hurt was high.

 

But at that moment he saw John: he was there, in front of him, with an expression of extreme fear. When he noticed Sherlock was actually looking at him, he started to shake his head in denial.

 

Sherlock released the handle and moved back.

John was right: this challenge wasn't worth an injury. He had two more tests and couldn't compromise his health and power in the middle of the competition.

 

“I can't lift it. I'm afraid I have to abandon this test” - Sherlock murmured sharply towards Mycroft, but looking at his own feet.

“I understand, Sherlock. - The king replied with a knowing look. - Let's see how this ends, then”.

 

John shared a fond and relieved glance with Sherlock and started to prepare himself. He didn't notice that Moriarty had been coming nearer and nearer, so he was a bit startled when the other lord said: “Oh, the broken knight is in love! How sweet. It sounds like a fairy tale. And you must know that I'm an expert in them”.

 

John tried to ignore him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his task, but the other prince was insistent.

“You know you're worth nothing, right? You don't have a magnificent brain like myself, nor you're particularly skilled anymore. You were strong, but after your little incident I doubt you'd be a good warrior again. Poor poor Johnny boy.”

The blond prince was fuming, but only internally. He didn't want to give satisfaction to that one bastard.

“Oh. I was almost forgetting. - Moriarty grinned – How is your shoulder today, dear? Any pain?”.

At the mention of his weak point, John threw his eyes open with a gasp. How could Moriarty possibly know about that? He hadn't told anyone... Well, apart from Sherlock, but he was absolutely sure Sherlock hadn't talked about it with any other human being.

 

“How do you know?” - John whispered through his gritted teeth.

“Oh, you know, a little bird told me” - Moriarty answered him with an evil smirk.

John raised his sight and in the corner of his left eye he could see Sir Moran, enjoying the view.

Yes, that actually made sense.

“Was it a scarred one, maybe?” - The blond knight hinted triumphantly.

The grin left Moriarty's face.

And in that moment John managed to pick up the dumbbell.

 

While dusting his hands on his robe, John beamed at his opponent.

“All is ready for you, lord”.

John could see Sherlock actually smiling at him.

But the satisfaction didn't last long. Lord Moriarty didn't have trouble with the fourth weight.

 

Only a dumbbell remained for the two opponents.

 

“You are very strong, lords. - King Mycroft complimented them, but without true admiration in his voice. - You have only one obstacle remaining. If both of you managed to hoist it, the winner would be the one able to repeat the lifting more times. But let's hope it'll not come to that.”

The last part was said in a hushed voice, though.

 

 

John approached the centre of the arena.

Moriarty was once again there, ready to distract him.

“You were very good before, Johnny boy. But you must bear something in your mind”.

As much as he tried the blue-eyed prince wasn't able to block out the other's words from his mind. “You must remember, Johnny, that I know your weaknesses. All of them. And from now on I will keep you down. Every time you'll stumble, every time you'll fail, when you're weak... I... WILL... BE... THERE!”.

 

John grimaced under Moriarty's assault. Yet he attempted to raise the dumbbell. He tried and tried, but his left shoulder was screaming at him.

“No. - Moriarty persisted – Don't try to fight it.”

 

He could do it, he could do it, he could do it! Damn it!

He tried one last time.

 

“LIE BACK AND LOSE!” - The dark-haired man hissed loudly.

 

And lose he did.

His shoulder was throbbing in pain, but the real ache was not physical. He had been beaten by Moriarty. How could he hope to win now? Even Sherlock was looking at him with a distraught expression. He didn't deserve to win. He was doomed to be a loser. With tears in his eyes, that he tried do hide from anyone, John moved back.

Little did he know Sherlock's expression was only due to his worry for John's health.

 

“Well, Lord Moriarty. If you're able to lift this... this... thing, you'll win. Otherwise we must call it a draw.” - Mycroft pointed out.

“I'm sure we won't come to that” - The lord sneered.

 

And indeed he won.

 

 

“The ranking is now the following then: – The king proceeded to announce – Sherlock is the first with nine points, Lord Moriarty the second with eight points. He is followed by Lord Watson with seven points, and Lord Anderson with six points. You are all very close. So the last two tests are going to be crucial for the outcome of our little competition”.

Said that, he retired himself in his library for the rest of the day.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

“So, lovebird, how's the shoulder?”.

 

Sir Lestrade was a skilled knight, almost thirty years old. His hair had started to become grey, but he was still a very handsome man (in the UMQRA clan he was known as the “silver fox of intercourse” among young women and men). His dark-brown eyes had nothing to envy to the deep-blue ones of his master. He was bulky, athletic, and exceptionally skilful in all things related to war. He was also quite smart, although not at Sherlock's level. He had been under John's command for five years now. They had respected each other at first sight. And soon they had become sort of friends, too. It was usual for them to talk about everything in a very informal way. Like two equals.

 

John scoffed at Lestrade's remark and shrugged, but immediately winced in pain. Although, he said: “Don't worry. I'm only a bit stiff”.

“Yeah. Tell that to someone else!” - The older man commented, raising both his eyebrows in disbelief.

“Okay, okay. Maybe it's not only a bit” - John conceded, grimacing while he massaged his left shoulder.

 

“Anyway... – Lestrade started with a mischievious grin on his face and a more relaxed tone – What have you got going on with that Prince Sherlock?”.

“Nothing.” - John told him in a rush.

“Yes, yes. And I'm the pope!” - The grizzled man replied sarcastically - John, you aren't called Three Clans Watson for nothing, you know”.

“Yes, unfortunately I know. And I have to thank YOU for that nickname, I presume”.

“Of course, my lord. It was only a pleasure spreading your fame as a fantastic lover!”.

“Oh. Stop it! You're too old for this kind of jokes”.

“I'm still young enough in the inside” - The man deadpanned grinning broadly, with a hand on his heart.

 

“Nevertheless, let's talk seriously about it for a bit. No... no. We have to. – Lestrade interrupted John's protests before they even had left his mouth. - I promise I won't pester you anymore after”.

“Okay okay. – The prince finally allowed – What do you want to talk about then?”.

 

 

Unknowingly to the two men of the UMQRA clan, someone had approached their threshold: it was Prince Sherlock himself. He had come bringing an ointment for John. He had acquired it after dinner from Lady Hudson, the nurse of the castle (I'm your nurse not your governess, young boy!), and was now delivering it to John.

It wasn't a device to see him. Well... not only.

 

When he noticed John had company, Sherlock pulled back from the door, silently waiting for the other one to leave his John alone.

 

 

“What I want to know is – John's knight was saying (Lestrode, or Legrabe, or Lastrad... Sherlock couldn't remember his name) – first of all, what you feel for him, and also what you plan to do about the competition”.

“The first one is simple, Greg. - John only called Lestrade by his first name when he was deadly serious, really anxious, or... extremely drunk. - I feel deeply about him. I know it may sound odd, because we've known each other for barely a week. But I knew that first day I saw him that he was special. A-and... he is. Oh, Greg, he is so smart... and clever...”

“Handsome?” - Lestrade prompted with a smirk on his lips.

“Gorgeous! - John was practically daydreaming – He's got these eyes that just... And his hair... Wow. And his smile...”.

“Yeah. Stop it now! I've understood: you are completely gone on him. - John nodded blushing - But you haven't answered my second question? What are you going to do about the competition? Have you at least talked about it with him?” - Lestrade asked again.

“Well... no, we haven't discussed about it. But... ” - John mumbled frowning.

Lestrade at that comment stopped him, concerned: “Listen, John. I'm not implying anything. But I'm worried about you. Do you think you'd be able, if you win, to keep him _imprisoned_? Or do you think you'd be willing to set him free and hope he'll keep you with him?”.

 

John remained silent for some minutes, with a very pensive expression.

“I hadn't realized that” - He admitted eventually.

 

“I'm sure you two will find a solution. - Lestrade interjected while patting his lord's good shoulder, trying to reassure him at once – After all, don't you always say _Amor vincit omnia_?” [A/N: _Love conquers all._ ]

“Yes. - John said while grinning, having finally lighten up a bit – But that's a quote from Virgil!”.

“Oh, well. I thought it fitted the situation nicely”.

 

 

At that moment a noise alarmed the two knights.

Sherlock in his eagerness not to miss a single word had leaned on the half-closed door, which had opened with a loud screeching.

 

“Who's there?” - John asked suspicious with a hand ready on his sword. When he saw it was Sherlock, he relaxed and a smile covered his face. But then he remembered what he had been talking about with Lestrade, and paled instantly.

 

“Sh... Sherlock. - The blond man stuttered – How long have you been there?”

“Oh. I've just arrived.” - The prince lied with a straight face.

“Oh, right. - John sighed relieved. - Well, what are you doing here?”

“I've noticed your shoulder was giving you trouble, so I thought an ointment would help you. I asked Lady Hudders for one, and she gave me this.” - He said while thrusting the jar in John's hands.

“Hudders? Do you mean by any chance Lady Hudson?” - John asked confused.

“Oh, yes. Her.”

 

“Ahem” - Lestrade had been quiet during this little exchange, but he knew they wanted privacy. And so he began to leave the room.

“I don't want to be an unwanted guest, so I'm going away. - Because John started to dissent, he added: – And I also don't want to see things which might haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. Thank you very much!”.

Even Sherlock smiled at that remark.

 

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Lestrade” - His master acquiesced finally.

Lestrade only raised his hand in goodbye, before leaving the two princes alone in the room.

 

 

“It's still early. Why don't we go to our oak?” - Sherlock suggested (with lovesick eyes).

And of course John couldn't refuse him anything.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

They had just left,  when Sir Moran entered the room. In his hands he had a jar, which resembled perfectly the one Sherlock had given to John and which was placed on the table near the window.

He approached that table and swapped the two bottles. Then he fled, without touching anything else.

The cream that was in the jar he had put in Lord Watson's room hadn't the effect of lessening the pain. On the contrary! It was made with the purpose of increasing the ache, inflaming the area on which it was applied on.

 

The game was afoot!

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Sherlock and John in t he meantime had reached their secret spot. They stood there in silence, hand-in-hand, looking at the moon and at the shining stars.

 

Sherlock, however, could see there was something worrying John (and he probably knew what it was already).

“Spit it out, John, or you're going to give yourself an ulcer”.

John was shocked at first, but then exhaled deeply and began to talk.

“Listen, Sherlock. I don't know how you feel about all of this... about me. But I'm pretty certain I like you and maybe it's all too sudden, but I'm sure I want at least to give us a try. I'm not attempting to restrain you or anything. But... what do you think about that?”.

 

Sherlock stood there, motionless, without uttering a single word. From the outside he looked calm. But in the inside his brain was buzzing with activity: sentiments he had never dreamed he would ever feel during his entire life were filling his mind. And he didn't know how to process them.

 

“That's getting a bit scary now. - John murmured after some minutes – Sherlock? Sherlock, are you all right?”.

“Um, what? Me? - The dark-haired prince finally faltered – I-I'm fine... I'm fine”.

John didn't seem totally convinced, but pretended to believe it.

“So, what do you think?”.

“John – Sherlock began in a hushed voice – I've always stated that all emotion is abhorrent to me. It is the grit in a sensitive instrument, the crack in the lens. And I believed it.”

 

The anxious expression on the older prince's face was slowly turning in one of utter misery.

 

“No, John! That was BEFORE I met you!” - Sherlock dashed to point out.

“You have to stop doing that. - John huffed sternly - Or one day you'll give me a heart attack!”.

“Sorry, sorry...”.

The “Drama-queen” John whispered in return didn't passed unnoticed and elicited a scowl from Sherlock. But he was determined to finish his train of thoughts, so he relaxed and continued in his speech.

“Anyway, as I was saying before you interrupted me, I think... I'd say your feelings are not unrequited. - John raised his eyebrows at that. - Okay, okay. I'm quite sure you're feelings are not unrequited, because I like you too. A lot. And you're right... – At that comment John actually gleamed. - We haven't known each other for long, so we must not rush into things. But I can feel we have something”.

“I agree with you. I can feel we have something too. And I think it's more than just friendship. Of course, only time will say if you're the love of my life, but as I've just told you I'm willing to give it a try at least. What do you say?” - John asked with some trepidation, while grabbing Sherlock's still free hand.

“I'd say... I'm willing to give it a try, too. If you'll have me” - Sherlock replied, not able to look directly into John's eyes anymore.

The blond man grabbed his chin and raised his face till he could lose himself once again in those deep silver eyes he had come to adore.

“Of course I'll have you.” - John whispered inaudibly, and then brought his lips to Sherlock's.

 

It wasn't like their first kiss at all. That one had been infused with fear, ferocity, anxiety, reassurance. This one was soft. Softer than the first snow that falls on a winter morning, softer than the wool women weave in front of hearths, softer than a freshly baked loaf of bread. And it was sweet. Sweet as a mother's caress, sweet as juicy strawberries, sweet as honey.

 

Their first kiss had been perfect: energetic and reaffirming.

But this one... Ah, this one was telling them they were not alone, they had not to fear, because the other needed them as much as they himself did.

 

It felt like hours (but according to Sherlock's internal clock it was probably only a couple of minutes) before they had to release each other for breathing.

 

“I think that answers all your doubts accurately” - Sherlock breathed out, still in John's arms.

“Yes, yes. I think it does.” - And with that they were giggling.

 

“We are hopeless.” - John said when the rapt of laughter had subsided.

Sherlock agreed with a rounding moan against John's neck.

 

“But... about the competition... What do you suggest we do, Sherlock?”.

“Well, I think our aim must be winning. Anderson isn't a problem at all: we can probably still beat him with closed eyes. On the contrary, Moriarty is a dangerous opponent. We must ensure he doesn't win tomorrow.”

John hummed in agreement at Sherlock's analysis and then added with a fearful face: “And if I win? I don't want to make you feel constrained in any possible way”.

 

Sherlock thought about it for a while and then declared: “If you win, we'll make sure we know each other a bit more before making any formal arrangement. The same if I win. Does that sound good to you?”.

John's eyes were glassy while he whispered: “Yes, it sounds good. It sounds really good.”

 

And then he was kissing Sherlock again.

 

 

“Do you have some sort of fascination with my bottom lip and my cupid bow? You give them an alarming amount of attention” - The younger man puffed after a bit.

“Well... you see...” – John's shade of red, Sherlock was certain, wasn't healthy for a human being.

“I don't mind. - Sherlock hurried to reassure him. - As a matter of fact, I quite like it. It was only an innocent question”.

“Um. Well, then if you must know... – John murmured heartened by the other's words – Yes, I have a soft spot for these two parts of your body. Not only for those two bits, obviously”.

 

Was John flirting with him?

 

“And which are those other parts you're talking about? Pray tell me, Lord Watson”

“Well, I can't reveal all of them right now, can I, Lord Holmes? It would be a shame to spoil our... future enjoyment” - John replied teasingly.

 

Yes, John was definitely flirting with him.

 

“Oh, okay. Then I have to keep what I favour of you a secret, too. - And at John's gaping face he rebutted - It's only fair!”.

John chuckled deeply and squeezed tenderly Sherlock's form between his strong arms.

 

“It's late, we must sleep. - The older knight stated at last. - Tomorrow is a big day”.

 

 

They walked with their fingers intertwined through the gate, and the main entrance. When they reached Sherlock's room they had to let go of each other's hand, reluctantly.

 

With hearts full of bliss, they both had splendid dreams that night.

 

 

But their adventures were far from ending.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... here we have Lestrade! Finally.  
> The quote “Amor vincit omnia” is from Virgil: you can find it at Eclogues X, 69.  
> Let me know what you think of the chapter ;)  
> See you next week.


	5. Chapter 5

William Wiggins was only a servant in the Baker S clan, but Sherlock was very fond of him (though he would never admit it publicly). The young prince had found him a rainy morning soaked to the skin, near a house of dubious morals. Yet he had not been stopped by that. He had taken him to the castle and left him at Lady Hudson's care. In a week Wiggins had put on two pounds, in a month five. He now was a young and smart boy, still skinny but in a healthy way. He had soon become Sherlock's personal servant (he was the only one the prince could tolerate, at least for a bit), and as usual in the morning he was making his master ready for the day.

 

What was unusual was the smile on his lord's face. He had never seen him smile... Well yes, a fake one for formal occasions, or when he wanted to obtain something from people during one of his cases. But one smile so true and warm like that one was an absolute novelty.

 

“I'm glad you're happy, Prince Shezza” - He was how he'd called him that first morning when they had met... The nickname had pleased Sherlock, so it had stuck.

“Me... happy? - Sherlock mumbled in a confused way – I'm not happy. I'm concentrated!”.

“If you say so, Prince Shezza.” - Wiggins smirked casting a knowing look at his master. He was certain he knew what... or better WHO was causing that smile. If he had to give a clue, it would have been “blond knight”. But he couldn't say anything or Sherlock would become annoyed at him. What a temper he had!

During his internal soliloquy, Wiggins had finished the required preparation for the day.

“Well, here you go.” - He said proud of his work, while pushing Sherlock outside the room.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

“Good morning, princes. - Mycroft was in an exceptionally jovial mood. - Today you are going to prove not only your strength but your skills and dexterity, too. The rules for this test are simple, but I'll be extremely strict on the following of them. – He paused, looking at the four men with a serious glare. - So, you will each fight two duels. Your first opponent will be drawn by chance. The two winners will then battle for the first place, and the two losers of the first duels will fence for... well, for not losing again. You'll fight to third blood. But remember: – He thundered – you must not inflict even remotely serious wounds. Any abuse will be punished. - The king stared sternly at them a little more, with a very meaningful expression. - I think we're clear on that. Thus the couples are: Lord Watson versus Lord Anderson for the first duel, and Lord Holmes versus Lord Moriarty for the second one. I'll give you ten minutes to fix yourselves and then we'll begin with the first fight.”

 

Sherlock was not utterly pleased with the draw: he had hoped for an easy start with Lord Anderson. But at least it was better than being against John.

 

As he was pondering that, Prince Charming himself had approached him.

“Hey, are you all right?” - John said, concerned.

“Yes, yes – Sherlock replied with a glimpse of a smile on his full lips. - And you? How's your shoulder? Has the ointment helped?”.

“Oh no! - John exclaimed while hitting his forehead with his left hand. - I've completely forgotten about it! - The blond knight blurted out mortified. - I-I'll promise I'll use it this evening”.

“No, no. It was only effective for a day. Now it's expired. But don't worry: if this evening you still feel pain, I'll bring you another one”.

“Thank you, Sherlock. You're amazing”.

 

Sherlock was not blushing... not at all.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

In the meantime Sir Sebastian and Lord Moriarty were muttering animatedly.

 

“It doesn't seem our ointment has worked, Sebastian. - The prince was hissing. - Are you sure you have put it in the right room?”.

“Yes, my lord. I'm totally sure.” - The knight guaranteed.

“Well, maybe he had applied too little of that.” - Moriarty groaned displeased in return.

“What are we going to do now, my lord?”

“Well, we must ensure our precious Sherlock doesn't win today or WE won't have a chance to win anymore. You know I'm awful with bows and arrows. - Moran nodded tensely. - But don't worry. I know exactly how to arrange that”.

 

After explaining his new scheme to Sebastian and with a final wink Lord Moriarty brought himself at the border of the arena which had been set up for the occasion.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

“The first two adversaries are ready. - King Mycroft proclaimed – Remember the rules, and may the better of you win!”.

 

John stood in the centre of the rink, in a firm stance. He was studying Lord Anderson's moves and looked ready to strike at the first possible occasion. His opponent, on the contrary, was hopping from one foot to the other clumsily. He tried to hit John, but the blue-eyed man was ready to fend himself and, taking advantage of Anderson's surprise, obtained the first blood.

 

 

“He is good, isn't he? - Sherlock hadn't noted Moriarty had reached his spot, and gasped at the other's words – Oh, what a delightful fairy tale: the defective knight and the detective prince. I was telling John this same thing just yesterday, you know. - The shorter lord smirked – It's a bit unusual, but I don't mind it. I love fairy tales... EVERY kind of fairy tales. I'm not fussy!”

 

 

In the meantime John had managed to strike Anderson once again. Second blood.

 

 

“Shut up, Moriarty! That's nothing of your business!” - Sherlock snarled.

“But it is! - He replied with an expression of fake hurt. - You see, every fairy tale needs a good old-fashioned villain. And I am the villain of your story, Sherlock. You need me, or you won't be the damsel in distress for your brave prince to save. Uh?”.

If a glare could incinerate people, Sherlock's one would have killed Moriarty at that moment (he was sure).

Sherlock opened his mouth, ready to rebut the other's filthy comments when he was interrupted by a roar: John had won the duel in less than ten minutes.

 

It was their turn now.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Sherlock and Moriarty held their positions and, after Mycroft had given them the start, began to go round and round in circles.

At first the fight seemed to be between equals. Sherlock was able to hit Moriarty in his left forearm, but his rival stroke him right after in the lower part of his chest.

 

Lord Moriarty realised the words he had just said to Sherlock hadn't been sufficient to crush down his willpower. But he wasn't alarmed at all: he still had a secret axis in his sleeve.

“Okay, clearly my previous little speech wasn't enough. - Moriarty panted at his adversary. - So let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don’t lose today.”

Sherlock stood there, as if struck. Terror was creeping into his mind (and his heart too).

“John” - He managed to choke out with a constrained voice.

“Not just John. - Moriarty growled - Everyone.”

“Lady Hudson.”

“Everyone” - The eyes of the evil genius were glittering with delight.

“Wiggins” - Sherlock finally breathed out with a gulp.

“Three arrows; three victims; one bowman... Moran, the best. And I won't stop him. I would never think about stopping him.”

 

Furiously, Sherlock tried to pull Moriarty towards the border of the ring. But the other prince was able to guard himself and, staring into Sherlock's panicked face, whispered: “Well, I won't stop him... Unless you lose this little duel.”

 

Sherlock froze and lifted his gaze, breathing heavily and appearing lost in horror, with his eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

Moriarty seized the opportunity and managed to hit him in the left part of his lower abdomen.

“Second blood” - He smiled triumphantly.

“Ah” - Sherlock shouted while attempting a counterattack with ferocity. But Moriarty was swift in his guard.

“You can have me imprisoned right now; you can torture me; you can do anything you like with me. But nothing is going to prevent Sebastian from throwing those arrows. He never misses a target. And today it's even easier because the three little birds are all nested in the same limited space. Your only three friends in the world will die... unless ...” - Moriarty hinted viciously.

“... unless I lose this duel, myself, and my freedom.” - Sherlock finished in a whisper.

The foreign lord approved with a nod of his head.

“You have to admit that’s a sexy evil plan.” - He added gleefully.

 

But Sherlock was not listening to him. He had withdrawn deeply into his own mind, searching frantically for a possible way out.

He could find none.

 

“And I'll what? - Sherlock muttered snidely after only a few seconds - Lose maybe tomorrow too, and become your faithful husband for the rest of my life?”

“Of course – Moriarty answered in a cold voice - That’s the point of this. And the fact that I'll acquire a fair amount of gold and precious stones. - He paused for a breath. - And moreover you'll live with the knowledge you've saved your friends' lives. You'd be a good Samaritan.” - His grin was getting bigger and bigger.

 

Sherlock had stopped his movements and was looking up. In the distance he could see Moran, pointing an arrow in front of him... towards platform of honour. There stood Wiggins, Lady Hudson, and... John!

 

“You thought I was only fooling around, Sherlock? - Moriarty chuckled, noticing the direction of Sherlock's gaze. - Well, I wasn't.”

 

The young prince was only half-listening to him by now. His eyes were fixed on John, with a look of intense fear and agony. But the blond prince couldn't understand the cause of Sherlock's emotion, and didn't know what to do to placate him.

 

“I've had enough now. The flirting's over, Sherlock. I've shown you what I can do, what consequences are waiting for you if you don't follow my orders. It' time for you to lose.”

“But if I lose, I'd be dead inside!” - The prince cried with a deep feel of dread laying on his heart.

“Oh, but you are going to love being dead, Sherlock. - Moriarty had managed to corner him and in the heat of the fight Sherlock had fallen and lost his sword. His adversary was looking down at his still form, with victory in his eyes – No one will ever bother you.”

With a swift move, Moriarty hit him in his left shoulder. Third blood.

 

Lord Moriarty had won.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

The next two duels, after the first round, would therefore had to be Anderson versus Sherlock, and John versus Moriarty.

John knew the aftermath of his defeat was going to be tough for Sherlock, so he approached him with the intention of comforting him.

 

“Hey, how are you feeling?”.

Silence.

“You mustn't worry too much. You'll certainly win this second match, and maybe I'll beat Moriarty”.

Silence.

“Sherlock, are you all right? Are you injured? Talk to me!” - John yelled, exasperated.

“Excuse me, Lord Watson. I have to prepare myself for my next duel”.

Sherlock then sidestepped a bewildered John without another word leaving his mouth.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

The fight between Anderson and Sherlock didn't last five minutes.

Sherlock, enraged by Moriarty's threats, defeated his adversary with three rapid moves.

But that wasn't the moment everyone was waiting for. The whole audience was buzzing looking forward to the big finale.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

The battle had begun.

John wanted to avenge Sherlock's pride and was ready to put all his strength in it, at all costs... even his own health. Moriarty, instead, felt he had already won: he had a scheme in mind, and was positive it'd work.

 

“Oh, Johnny boy... – Moriarty beamed at him – How's your sister? Still drunk as usual?”.

John was struck deep by that vicious affirmation, but managed to keep it hidden and launched a new attack.

“I see your little bird is very good at stealing information” - The blond prince hissed before gaining the first blood.

 

Moriarty was furious: his design to take advantage from a mention of John's sister's problems hadn't succeeded at all.

Well, in desperate times, desperate measures.

 

“You know Sherlock is only using you, right? - Even the “Don't call him Sherlock” coming from John's mouth could not stop him – Don't delude yourself in thinking you're worth enough for him. He's smart, handsome, healthy, whole. All things you are not anymore. You are... Well, I'm confident you already know what you are, right? Only a broken, useless wreck to throw away”.

Although he tried not to let these words affect him, Moriarty had managed to touch John's inner fears. The blond prince was so overwhelmed by anguish that his distraction gave Moriarty the opportunity to push forward and in no time he found himself cornered.

“You can't win!” - The dark-haired lord uttered before thrusting the tip of his sword right into John's left shoulder.

John grimaced loudly in pain and fell on his hands and knees.

Everyone gasped: they all knew John had strained that shoulder yesterday during weightlifting. It was a low blow.

 

Sherlock, who also knew of his previous injury in that area, couldn't contain himself anymore. He had tried to hold his countenance cold and stoic (at least to the external eyes), but at that sight he couldn't stop himself from wincing in sympathy and worry. With glassy eyes he rushed nearer the arena, but was withheld by the strong arms of Sir Lestrade, who shook his head, blocking him. Sherlock managed to compose himself with great effort, but his mind was flooded by apprehension and terror.

 

Meanwhile John had managed to lift himself up, and staring at Moriarty pronounced in a dead serious voice: “You think you know everything... about me... about my family... about Sherlock. But do you want to know something else, Moriarty? - He snarled, while ferociously downloading a series of strong blows – There is only ONE almighty being, as far as I know. And clearly YOU. ARE. NOT. GOD!” - He punctuated every of his last words with a violent hit, finally succeeding in disarming his adversary.

“One more thing. – He whispered trapping him at the border of the ring. – Stay away from Sherlock, you maniac, or you'll have to deal with me... and all my knights!”.

Finishing his speech, John struck him one last time (in the left shoulder), conferring himself the victory.

 

All the people gathered there were speechless.

 

The winner stood straight and started to leave the arena, but the evil snake managed to hiss one last thing, loud enough to be heard by John: “Oh, Johnny boy, how will you be able to protect him if he's going to throw you away like a broken toy?”.

 

John, however, ignored him and didn't turn around.

 

 

The silence that had laid on the audience since the end of the duel shuttered in a thousand of claps and shouts when John retreated. The roar was deafening: every single person was celebrating the brave knight's victory with true joy.

 

“Silence, please! - Mycroft exclaimed. - The situation after this fourth test is the following: Lord Watson, Lord Moriarty, and Lord Holmes are all at eleven points. - The outcry was thunderous. - However, I'm afraid, Lord Anderson, that with your seven points you are already out from the competition”.

“What? No, no. It's not possible!” - The prince shouted.

“You see, it's impossible you'll ever achieve the victory, because even if you manage to gain four points in tomorrow test, you'll have only eleven points. And the one prince who comes last will still have more points than you. You are of course welcome to stay and enjoy our hospitality”.

“No, I think I'll go home” - Anderson grumbled angrily, immediately leaving the castle with all his retinue of warriors.

 

The Baker S clan hadn't kept any more connections with the Dino clan after that.

It wasn't a great loss for them...

 

♔♕♚♛

 

John's shoulder was pulsing in pain: that one hit delivered by Moriarty had worsened deeply his already weak condition. He didn't know how good he could shoot arrows the following day. At least he hoped his experience and skills would compensate.

He was in search of Lady Hudson's chambers, because he wanted to ask her for a bit more of her ointment. He hadn't use the other one, but relied on her talent wholeheartedly.

He could see her door at the end of the long and dark corridor, when he noticed two people talking in front of it. They were Sherlock and King Mycroft. He had still to talk with Sherlock after the final duel, and didn't want to interrupt the private moment between the two siblings. Therefore he decided to wait for them to finish their conversation before approaching the infirmary.

 

 

“So you and that foot soldier are a thing now?” - The king was saying to his little brother.

“He is a knight, Mycroft. – Sherlock interjected frowning in annoyance. - A brave and valiant knight. And you know it. Don't feign it! And leave me alone!”.

“Ah, yes... Brave... The bravery of the knight. - The older man persisted with a grin – Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don’t you agree?”

Sherlock didn't, according to his scowl.

“What is your connection to him, Sherlock?”

“I don’t have one. I barely know him. I met him... - The prince started to declare defensively - ... Five days ago.”

“Mmh... - Mycroft went on without a flinch. - And since then you’ve decided that caring is an advantage after all, and now you’re planning to solve crimes and keep bees with him. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the competition?”.

Sherlock's expression hardened at that remark, but he didn't rebut anything.

“How many times do I have to repeat it, Sherlock? - The king sighed frustrated - All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, little brother”.

“I don't care for him! - Sherlock cried out, red in the face for his inner turmoil - It's just... it's just a childish crush... a-a temporary fling!”

 

 

John had listened to them carefully until that point, but when those Sherlock's last words reached his ears he gasped and fled away, crying.

What a fool he had been! He had believed in Sherlock... and now... He didn't know what to believe in anymore...

 

 

In the meantime the two brothers had carried on with their talk, not suspecting anything.

“Yes, - Mycroft was saying - call me when you actually believe it, little brother”.

And he went away, leaving Sherlock alone.

“I actually believe it right now!” - Sherlock shouted at the empty hallway.

 

That conversation, as much as it had been unpleasant, had helped Sherlock clear his mind a bit.

Yes, he was sure. He had to keep going with his original plan: winning the competition and living alone as a consulting detective. He couldn't allow himself to create bonds with anyone. Especially after Moriarty's threats of that morning. He could not... He WOULD not risk his freedom like that.

And he couldn't put John's life at stake!

Mycroft's speech had made him realise how his still-new connection with John was clearly visible to anyone with eyes, thus endangering the knight's safety and life. And he would not compromise with that!

No, he couldn't. He was willing to lose John, if that meant keeping him alive and secure. John's life was worthier than anything... Even though he would never openly admit it to anyone... Even though he would never truly admit it to himself, too...

 

There was only one problem left: would he be able to let John go?

 

Pondering that thought, he went into Lady Hudson's room to take the cream for John. Ha had noticed his pain, and wanted to relieve him of it. So he had come to the infirmary... but he had met his obnoxious brother in front of it.

He was probably cursed or something!

 

♔♕♚♛

 

John had reached his room in the meantime. Right after he had crossed the threshold, he had crumbled. His entire form was shaking with violent sobs. His bad shoulder was throbbing uninterruptedly, and he could feel an odd pulsing in his right leg.

“Oh, no. No, no, NO! My limp is coming back” - He moaned at no one in desperation.

 

Sherlock was by then arriving with the new jar, unaware of John's state. He entered the room and instantly froze in shock.

“John, are you all right?” - He rushed to his side and was going to lay a hand on John's back in comfort, when the other turned his face towards him. His deep blue eyes were puffy and filled with tears, and other salty drops were streaming his cheeks in rivulets.

“Stop it, Sherlock! - John croaked with a broken voice - I've heard everything you've said to the king. So just drop the mask. You owe me that at least.”

 

Sherlock stood there motionless.

Well, that definitely resolved the matter. He would seize the opportunity fate was presenting him. He would distance himself from John.

He was like an unstoppable fire. Everything he came in contact with eventually would burn and perish. He couldn't allow John to end like that. He was... he was too precious to fade like that.

 

Meanwhile John had resumed talking, seeing that Sherlock was still silent.

“Am I not worthy enough for you? Not strong enough? Not good enough? Not skilled enough? - John was choking on his sobs, but nothing could stop him from venting his rage and bitterness – Have I by any chance put you under pressure... or offended you... or burdened you in some way? If that's the case, at least you could have told me before...before”. John didn't have the strength to utter “before making me fall for you”. And if he had to be honest with himself, he probably hadn't even had that choice at all: he had fallen for Sherlock that very first day, at first glance.

 

“No, it's not that” - Sherlock whispered with a stoic expression.

“Oh, behold people. He speaks!” - John cried with bitter sarcasm.

Sherlock ignored the comment and fulfilled his scheme.

“John, you have to understand that nothing... NOTHING is worthier than my freedom. I don't want to lose it! I don't want to feel restrained by any kind of bonds! I want to OWN my destiny. I don't want it to belong to others, who can do as they please with it! I was wrong before. I thought... I thought I could change idea... - Now came the hard part. – And I feigned those sentiments... I wanted to check for other possible roads. But in doing so I've understood that what I honestly want is solitude.”

He was playing a part, he knew that... but he had played it for so much time during his life no one could notice he wasn't his genuine self.

“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.” - Sherlock concluded gravely.

 

John had remained there, reticent to interrupt the other prince's outburst. But now he felt it was finally his turn.

“Sherlock, freedom doesn't mean being free FROM any kind of bonds or attachments.

Freedom means you are free TO CHOOSE your bonds! - John burst out, exasperated – And you already own your destiny, you fool! The great fact in life is that you might decide to share it with someone else, and that someone else might share theirs with you, too!”

 

But Sherlock didn't want to see reason. He had to stick to his scheme.

“No, John. Alone is what I have. Alone protects me. - The young prince reiterated – I was wrong. I don't have friends... Not even one.”

 

At that comment John gasped and his face darkened instantly, while his whole body stiffened.

“Yes, you're right. You're only a creature made of stone... nothing else”- He eventually was able to snarl in return, after regaining his mind.

 

When Sherlock didn't add anything to that, John stated bitterly: “I see we have nothing else to say to each other. I must ask you to leave my room. I would like to wish you good luck, but at this point I don't know what will be the best outcome. Maybe you and Moriarty would get along splendidly... Who knows...”

 

There was no further comment from any of them.

Sherlock went away leaving there his heart (or what remained of it), while John shuttered in a million pieces in the isolation of his chamber.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're more than halfway there! We're leaving the boys during a hard time. Who knows what's going to happen... 
> 
> I hope someone is liking the story... Let me know your thoughts, and see you next week ;)


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Sherlock was running hurriedly through the hallways towards the main entrance of the castle. He was late.

The previous night he had stayed awake rolling over and over in his sheets, pondering the cruel words he had spat at John. Had he made the right decision? With any roll he changed his mind. Many and many times he was ready to sat up and go to John's room to apologise. One time he even reached the door, put his hand on the doorknob, and turned it. But in the end he had retreated, and resolved to stay in his bed. Tormenting himself, lost in a sweaty and restless state.

Sleep had eventually caught up with him near dawn, but it hadn't been a restful one. His dreams were full of dark, cries, sobs, and pain. Not really idyllic!

When Wiggins came to prepare him, he was still sleeping (a remarkable exception from his daily routine). His servant had only had some minutes for his fitting, and now he was frantically rushing outside.

 

 

“Sherlock, wait!” - A voice resounded unexpectedly across the empty corridor.

“No, I don't want to. - He replied in a cold voice – We aren't exactly pals, are we Moriarty?”.

“How cantankerous you are this morning! Has your little pet finally left you? - At Sherlock's instant stiffening and darkening face, Moriarty grasped the truth and a large radiant smile appeared on his mouth – Oh, I see. I'm right! Well, I have always thought he would. It's nothing out of the ordinary, you see”.

Sherlock at first ignored him, but then in a rapt of wrath snarled: “What if I was to tell anyone your real nature, the one you have been hiding under your shining facade?”

Moriarty didn't sound bothered or shocked by that at all. The grin didn't left his face, while he replied: “Then you could cherish the look of surprise on my face. - His expression (wide eyes and wide mouth) would have been hilarious in another kind of situation, but in this one it only made Sherlock's stomach turn. - Because I’d be surprised, Sherlock; really I would. - The shorter prince paused only for a little bit, taking a breath. - And just a teensy bit disappointed. And of course you wouldn’t be able to cherish it for very long.”

Sherlock couldn't move his feet, frozen in shock. Lord Moriarty, beaming maniacally, started to speed up, but, before turning the corner, managed to say: “Ciao, Sherlock Holmes”.

“Don't call me Sherlock!” - The grey-eyed prince shouted angrily.

 

But Moriarty had by then disappeared already around the corner, a loud giggle following closely his withdrawing shadow.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

“Good morning, princes – Mycroft's usual way of greeting had by that moment become familiar to the contestants. - Today you are only three: as I'm sure you all remember vividly, Lord Anderson had decided to leave us because of his insufficient points. - They all nodded, not even in the slightest displeased. - Today is our last one, so let me thank you for your cooperation in following the rules during these past few days. As for the rules of this last challenge, they are very simple: as you can see, a target has been placed at 221 feet [ _A/N: 57,36 m_ ] from the line where you will position yourselves. On the target there are ten circles, each one inside the others. The centre of the target is worth 10 points, the next one 9 points, and so on till the bigger one, that will make you gain only 1 point. There are going to be three rounds and you'll have one arrow for each one of them. Don't waste them! The order in which you are going to compete is this one: Lord Moriarty, Lord Holmes, and Lord Watson. Because you all have eleven points in the general ranking, at the end of the third round the one of you with more points is going to be the winner of the whole competition! If there is a draw, you'll continue to throw arrows until we can proclaim a winner. I hope everything is clear. - The princes groaned in agreement. - Let's begin then”.

 

While approaching the arranged location, Sherlock was watching carefully at John.

The blond knight didn't look particularly healthy: he had dark bags under his eyes, a white bandage was visible under his robe near his left shoulder, winces and grunts of pain could be heard leaving his lips at every step. But the most upsetting fact was the limp he was showing in his pace. He was clearly favouring his left leg, trying not to let anyone see he was suffering. But Sherlock could see it. And though he had argued with John the night before, his Mind Palace couldn't do anything but be filled by heartache.

 

 

The first series of shots began with 3 (honestly very disappointing) points for Lord Moriarty.

He looked like a fish out of water: this plainly wasn't his best asset.

Sherlock, instead, managed to acquire 7 points. He was not very good in this... not bad either though.

John, on the other hand, was magnificent: considering he was not in his best form, his achievement was practically miraculous. The bow didn't seem something external John's body: it was like an extension of his whole being. He eyed the target, aimed thoroughly, and scored 8 points without effort. The audience adored him.

 

As they were getting ready for the next round, Moriarty came near John and tried to annoy him and make him lose his concentration. Now that he knew about the disagreement between the other two princes, he wasn't going to waste his perfect opportunity!

“Have the two soul mates finally divided?”

John, who was limping laboriously back to the line, stopped in his walk and barked: “Moriarty, do you think you'll be able to shut up or do you need me to push your bow up your arse before doing it?”.

The dark-haired prince grinned in delight, and with an expression that mimicked astonishment he said: “Oh, is that the language suitable for a prince?”.

“I don't know – John replied, resuming his pace with great effort – It was certainly suitable on the battlefield”.

“Nostalgic memories, Johnny boy?” - Moriarty cried out inquisitively, but John was already not listening to him.

 

Not shot down by the apparent fail with Lord Watson, Lord Moriarty advanced towards Sherlock and, in one last attempt to distract him, muttered: “The first day we met you told me you were on the side of the angels. But now I've seen what you do to the people you love. – At that comment he looked pointedly at John. – So you must admit that we are just alike, you and I... except you're boring. You have a heart, or, at least, so you seem to believe. And you must know that I'm determined to burn it. I'll burn... the HEART... out of you”.

“I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I have been reliably informed that I don't have one” - Sherlock whispered coldly in return.

“But we both know that's not quite true. - Moriarty softly refuted his remark. - I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I... owe... you. And a prince must always repay his debts. It's the etiquette, you know!”

After waiting in vain for Sherlock to react, he shrugged and added: “Well, I'd better be off. It's my turn now”.

If Sherlock had still been able to feel emotion, he would have been hurt by the snake's words. But he didn't think he had that ability anymore.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Moriarty braced himself for his second shot, aimed, and threw his arrow. He improved his previous achievement but not by much. He had scored only 4 points.

He was beginning to be truly anxious. He was desperate: his plan was not going as foreseen, but he was determined at least to leave with one last trick. He would try anything in his power: the game wasn't over!

“You don't seriously believe you'll win, right Sherlock? - He stated while the curly-haired prince was readying himself – At this point I think our John here is going to win. And we both know that even in that case you'll not gain your freedom. You'll be tied down as the husband of a defective knight. How exciting!” - Lord Moriarty chuckled evilly.

Sherlock's answer was only a deep gasp, while John had some words for the prince of the IOU clan.

“You'd better hope we'll never meet again, Moriarty – John fumed in wrath, his entire posture in his body screaming “danger” to anyone near him – or I'll definitely kill you. I don't care for the aftermath”.

 

In the distressed silence that followed this exchange, Sherlock managed to score 8 points.

Moriarty could only count on one false step from John.

 

In the meantime the blond prince was readying himself for his second shot. He winced while positioning his feet on the line, but didn't seem to mind his pain at all, aimed, and shot his second arrow.

Silence dropped on the audience: John's arrow had hit the exact centre of the target. He had scored 10 points! Everyone was looking at the limping knight with a renewed awe in their eyes. They had already understood he was good... but hadn't imagined he was THIS good!

 

The moment was broken by Mycroft's words: “I'm afraid, Lord Moriarty, that in view of this recent development you can't win anymore. You've only 7 points and even with an exact centre you'll only get 17 points. And, though it's true you could still beat Sherlock with his current 15 points, you'll not be able to overcome Lord Watson's 18 points in any case. Please step away from the line: for you the competition finishes here”.

The silence which had left the crowd just a minute ago returned to lay on everyone.

Moriarty looked round searching for any help, but apparently didn't find anything satisfying enough. He snapped his last arrow in two, and started to quit the other princes' side while muttering towards Sherlock: “You weren't worthy anyway”.

“Apparently – John interjected sarcastically, having caught his last words – you believe a lot of things are unworthy: me, Sherlock, this competition... fair playing. You might have to revise your vision of the world.”

Moriarty snarled at him, while Sherlock couldn't stop giggles to escape his mouth. But he quickly composed himself once again. Ha needed to concentrate: it had now arrived the moment for his last chance.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Sherlock opened wide his legs, lifted his bow with the arrow in place, and found the perfect position to hit the centre. He was ready to throw when...

 

“Aren’t ordinary people adorable? - He hadn't noticed Moriarty hadn't yet walked away completely, and flinched at the sound of his obnoxious voice. - But you know: you’ve got John. No wait... - Moriarty continued in a derisive tone - You HAD John. You've pushed him away too, haven't you? Oh Sherlock... And I bet it was easy, wasn't it? Maybe it was so easy because he was unconsciously eager to do it. Nobody really wants you. Nobody deliberately chooses you.”

 

Sherlock violently gasped at those words and in his sudden movement shot his arrow unintentionally.

While hearing Moriarty's chuckle finally fading away, he realised he had only scored 4 points.

He had 19 points now. Not enough! John already had 18 points and had proved how good he was in this activity. Ha had essentially lost already.

He prepared himself for his inevitable defeat.

 

Little did he know John's inner conflict.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

John wasn't nervous: he knew he could get an easy victory now. The point however was: did he really want to?

 

Yes, he was deeply angry at Sherlock: the young prince had used him for his purposes, not thinking about the possible repercussions on John's heart.

 

But... but he was still enamoured with the idiot.

As much as it hurt to admit it, he understood (if only for a bit) Sherlock's motives.

Wasn't freedom from any bindings one of the reasons he had accepted to leave for the crusade in the first place? His father had wanted him to marry a vapid girl (her name was Mary if he remembered correctly), and he had managed to escape that bond with the promise of glory to his family. Going to war, proving he actually deserved to be part of the royal family, feeling the thrill of the battlefield... those had been his dreams since he was a little boy. And he had been able to achieve them... if only for a little while.

So, could he deny at Sherlock the fulfilment of his own dreams?

It would be hypocritical and cruel.

 

During his inner quarrel he unconsciously lifted his gaze and met Sherlock's eyes: he could see they were filled with dread and fear. They had completely lost the natural light which usually shone from them. They were spent... like the sky before a storm...

At that sight he immediately knew he had already decided. Instantly he felt a weight he hadn't realised was there leave his heart. At that moment he was finally understanding that the words an old lady had told him once in the Holy Land were true: “Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator”. Bitterness and anger had tried to stop him from doing the right thing: it would have been easy to throw an arrow, gain 10 points, marry Sherlock (the one man he loved) and live happily for the rest of his life. But that choice was right only on the surface: that life would have been only an ephemeral replacement, not true happiness. In fact, how could he survive with Sherlock after the competition, knowing HE had done that to him... HE had imprisoned him... HE had stolen his dreams... HE had prevented him from being free...?

No... he couldn't...

 

Having took his final decision, John aimed his bow at the sky and shot his arrow in the empty space. After a small arch in the open air, it thrust itself in the grass near the target.

 

John had scored 0 points. Now his total was still of 18 points.

 

Sherlock had won the competition.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

The whole crowd was bringing Sherlock in triumph towards the stage, where King Mycroft was awaiting him. The young prince, however, was not walking towards his brother as was his duty. Instead he was looking for a honey-blond head into the chaos that had formed around him. But he couldn't find it.

Eventually he managed to make out a golden splash in the distance: John was limping towards the woods, sending away Lestrade brusquely with his right hand. All has ended then

The dark-haired prince averted his eyes from that scene, readying himself for the future expecting him.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Sherlock had reached the platform and was waiting behind the thick curtains for the beginning of the awarding ceremony. Absorbed in his thoughts he didn't notice Mycroft had arrived.

“Congratulation, little brother – The king was telling him with a soft smile - I hadn't forecast this outcome at all. And even though at the start I was a bit doubtful of your true reasons, now I can get them. After all, before meeting Anthea and learning her true nature, I believe my ideas were exactly the same as yours. But... you know... SHE happened. - He stopped, looking in the distance, with a fond expression on his face, a bit unusual for him. - May you find your goldfish too, Sherlock”.

Mycroft pushed the curtains aside and stepped out on the stage.

Sherlock was left alone.

“I think I have already found my own goldfish... but I let him go.” - Sherlock murmured for no one to hear.

 

It had been for John's best, though. He didn't regret it at all...

 

♔♕♚♛

 

King Mycroft cleared noisily his throat to impose silence. When he obtained it, he gestured for Sherlock to come outside near him, and then introduced the solemn ritual.

“My dear subjects, as you know, the competition to win my brother's hand had finished with an unusual result. - A general chuckle crossed the audience. - Now we are here to celebrate Sherlock's victory, though it may sound odd to our ears. Nevertheless, the traditional procedure implies the betrothed recites the following sentence: 'I consider myself married to...', followed by the winner's name. But in this case, I presume the sentence 'I consider myself married to my work' is more fitting. What do you think, brother? Does it sound suitable for you?”.

Sherlock nodded and muttered a “yes” tersely.

“So, let's put an end to this whole business.” - Mycroft proclaimed, prompting Sherlock to conclude the ceremony.

The young prince took a few steps towards the edge of the platform, looking at his feet. Then he raised his gaze eyeing the crowd gathered in front of him with an expression of complete concentration.

 

In reality his mind was focused on other views. More pleasant ones actually.

 

“I, Prince Sherlock of the Baker S clan, -

Two cerulean eyes were haunting his Mind Palace.

\- consider myself... -

They were blue as the sky in a warm summer night.

\- married... -

Blue as the two sapphires his mother had given him one week before dying.

\- to my... -

Blue as the sea he had seen that one time for his eighth birthday.

\- John.”

 

A sudden jolt streamed in unison through the whole audience.

 

“No, no... - Sherlock tried to fix the situation desperately - I meant work... work... work! Not John. Work! Of course, I meant work. I-I-I consider myself married to my WORK!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The competition has finally ended... but the game is not over!  
> Kudos and comments are very appreciated ;D


	7. Chapter 7

“ _I, Prince Sherlock of the Baker S clan, consider myself married to my John”._

_A sudden jolt streamed in unison through the whole audience._

“ _No, no... - Sherlock tried to fix desperately - I meant work... work... work! Not John. Work! Of course, I meant work. I-I-I consider myself married to my WORK!”_

 

A deathly silence had fallen on the audience. Everyone was staring at the young prince, who after his error had lowered his head, becoming a deep shade of crimson.

 

Queen Anthea was the first to break the spell.

“Sherlock, it's not as if repeating it would change reality.” - She said with a clear voice, eyeing her brother-in-law tenderly.

Sherlock turned towards her: he had teary eyes, red cheekbones, and tight lips. He was practically on the verge of losing it all.

“I know you think this is what you want. – Anthea went on, undaunted by Sherlock's lack of words – But it's clearly not what you need. You can't control everything: in life you have to risk it a bit. And I understand you might be scared: you have the right to be. Everyone is a little afraid at the beginning. But I can guarantee the play will be worth the candle”.

The young man was still not talking or looking at her, but from his face it was crystal he was catching every single syllable and recording them in his mind.

“And anyway – The queen persisted – your freedom is going to be preserved: you are the master of your soul and of your fate. You alone can determine your choices. But you can let yourself be helped. You can let yourself have a support, a stick to rely on. You can even let yourself have a chain that ties you down tightly... but only to make you avoid falling. - She paused, waiting for a reaction (or more likely a snide comment). But not hearing any protests from Sherlock, she continued yet again in her speech. – But this doesn't mean you are NOT free. It means the exact opposite! The people we love, the connections we make are the actual things that give us freedom. Do you understand me, dear?”.

 

Sherlock stayed still for a couple of minutes, fidgeting and looking at the points of his boots. After an alarming amount of time, however, he stopped his movements, raised his head, and finally nodded tentatively. In the passing seconds he got surer and surer, his nodding getting more erratic. Soon he started grinning, squeezing his eyes and letting the unshed tears flow down his face.

“Yes – He choked out with effort but with a big smile on his lips– Yes, I do”.

“Good – Anthea acquiesced fondly – So, now we have to go and bring back your freedom. We wouldn't want you to lose it, would we?”.

Sherlock shook his head, still crying a bit. Suddenly he jumped off the platform and began running in a rush.

 

He was going to get free!

 

♔♕♚♛

 

The now determined man dashed towards the spot where he could see Sir Lestrade was, arranging his luggage on his horse for the upcoming departure. He wanted to ask him for any possible piece of information about John's whereabouts.

Lestrade's answer was, however, not very friendly.

“Why do you want to know? Do you by any chance wish to give him the coup de grace?” - He stressed the last three words with a flourished wave of his left hand.

“No, no! - Sherlock promptly defended himself – Haven't you attended the celebration?”.

The knight was cold as stone when he whispered: “No, I haven't. I favoured not watching John's world shuttering down for the second time in his life”.

Sherlock was struck dumb: he immediately stiffened and widened his eyes in confusion; a frown appearing on his forehead in the space between his eyebrows.

“John decided to leave before all the others. – Lestrade carried on imperturbably in his scolding, ignoring the distressed prince – He wanted to walk through the woods in order to clear his mind... and cool down a bit. Nevertheless, I must congratulate you. - The older man bowed mockingly, huffing his next words. – I didn't think it was possible for him to look worse than the moment he was shot in the Holy Land. Apparently I was wrong”.

He made to go away, when an idea struck his mind. He turned suddenly towards Sherlock again.

“Do you at least know what you might have launched? Do you know what John was planning to do after his injury in the crusades? He wanted to kill himse...”.

“Don't say it!” - Sherlock yelled, not letting him finish.

“Oh... I'll bloody sa... Hey, where are you going?”.

 

But Sherlock couldn't hear him: he was running into the woods with dread laid on his heart, leaving a trail of thick salty drops behind himself.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

He had failed: he hadn't still been able to find John. Where had he gone? It wasn't as if he was seeking a needle in a haystack! He was the greatest consulting detective alive (well, the only one in the world but the best nevertheless). He could certainly find a man who was wandering in a restricted area. It was his job after all! And yet he hadn't seen even a small evidence of John's presence yet.

While he was starting to panic (a bit), with his left eye he noticed a splash of red. It was only a piece of cloth caught in a bramble, but it was perfect because he knew it was undoubtedly from John's cloak!

“Finally a clue!” - Sherlock shouted with relief to the unconcerned trees.

John had actually followed this path then. He must have come into the forest, seen the large path, and walked alongside it. Sherlock was on the right track! He picked up the red cloth, and kept walking in that direction. Going ahead he encountered footprints on a muddy spot: they were John's! He could feel he was finally approaching his desired target.

While he was pondering these things, he reached a spacious clearing, littered with a myriad of colourful flowers. At the limit of it there was a precipice, and then a lively waterfall. Sherlock could faintly recall the name of the stream which formed it: “Rich brook”. His people had named it like that in the ancient times, for no apparent reason. He couldn't grasp why it sounded worthy remembering, though.

Even in that stressful moment it would have been a peaceful sight... if it wasn't for the figure dangerously leaning forward, into the void.

 

“No, John! Don't do it!” - Sherlock shouted rushing ahead immediately, fear gripping his entire being.

He grabbed John's cloak and pulled him strongly far off the cliff. Then they stood there, both panting, while Sherlock was patting John's arms and shoulders, as if to check he was actually still there, alive.

“Sherlock! – The blond knight cried out angrily after some minutes – What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?”.

At first the other man wasn't able to speak, swallowing a lump again and again. His eyes was as big as saucers, and his cheekbones had got pink for the running and the violent fright. He tried to compose himself, measuring his breathing and fighting his dry mouth. Succeeding (partly) in that, he started to mumble incoherently: “You have to live... Y-you can't... You can't...”.

The control he had gained with effort left him at the first syllables. Hysteria was filling Sherlock's mind, his hands were gripping John's arms extremely tightly, and his eyes though fixed on the other's chest couldn't focus appropriately. He was practically having a panic attack.

“Sherlock, breathe! - When the younger boy didn't follow his command, John tried again with a firmer voice (ha had been a warlord in the Crusades after all) – Breathe, dammit! You have to calm down! I was only attempting to drink, nothing else”.

At those words Sherlock's eyes cleared and they moved to share a hesitant glance with the blond man.

“Only drinking?” - He asked with hope filling his voice.

“Yes, nothing else. I promise” - John reassured him, with his hands still on the other's shoulders.

That comment seemed to comfort Sherlock, and the two stood there, staring into each other's eyes, breathing deeply and trying to regulate the beatings of their hearts.

 

After some minutes, spent in complete silence, John stiffened and murmured in an unusual icy voice: “What are you doing here? Why aren't you home, enjoying your victory?”.

Sherlock distanced himself from John's grasp and gesticulating wildly with his hands rambled: “I've come here... I've come here... because I've finally understood... - He stopped to gulp. - I've understood I was an utter fool. You were right, and I was wrong. - John couldn't believe his ears: was seriously Sherlock the one talking or a vapid imitation of him? - You were right: being free does NOT mean being bondless, but being free TO bond myself with whom I love. My destiny is mine, and mine alone... but I've decided to share it.”.

During his little speech Sherlock had closed his eyes, but now he reopened them, eager to catch John's reaction.

It wasn't the one he was hoping for... at all.

“So you are going to search for another pretender. You are going to do another competition to seek that person you'll be willing to share your fate with. Well, good luck with that!” - John spatted out with a distant voice.

“No, no. - Sherlock struggled to clarify anxiously – Idiot! I've already found that person!”.

A deeper disappointment overflown John's face. In an instant he had muttered darkly: “I hope you and Moriarty will be very hap...”.

 

He couldn't complete his sentence, though. A pair of full lips had descended on his thinner ones.

“You idiot! – Sherlock breathed tearily against the other's mouth – I'm talking about you!”.

John's gasp was lost in their next kiss.

After all they had passed in those few days their movements weren't careful at all. Their lips were frantic in their search for grounding, for reassurance, for pleasure. Their teeth collided with a painful clash, but even the following ache disappeared among their impending needs. John had thrust both his hands into Sherlock's curly hair, and was holding it in a tight grip. But the other man didn't seem to mind at all by the deep moan that resounded from his throat, so low it made the knight shiver in bliss. Sherlock's hands were instead on John's waist, pulling him towards himself, so much that the blue eyed prince was practically plastered to his body. But that was actually what they both wanted.

They carried on like that for some minutes, only breaking away for breathing a couple of times.

In one of those instants of rest, they were laying their foreheads against each other, eyes locked in a strong connection, John gently stroking Sherlock's cheekbones with his thumbs. Words were not necessary: the kiss had already told them everything that mattered.

 

 

The rapture of the moment was however broken by a horrified shout.

“Sherlock, NO!”.

 

John pushed him away brusquely, then swung dangerously, and eventually collapsed to the ground. A large arrow was planted in his lower abdomen. Blood was gushing out quickly from the wound, leaving John weak and motionless.

No part of his figure was betraying signs of life.

 

Sherlock was in shock. He turned around to see where the arrow had been shot from, and made out the figure of a familiar man.

Sir Sebastian Moran stood at the border of the clearing, bow in hand, smirking maniacally near his master.

 

The younger prince attempted to head towards the fallen knight in a rush, but Moran's mighty form blocked his steps promptly and started to drive him to the edge of the precipice. Lord Moriarty had already reached that spot, and was waiting patiently for him. Cornered, Sherlock could do nothing but stare disdainfully at his nemesis.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

The roar of the waterfall was intense, but Moriarty was pronouncing every word in a loud and clear voice so that Sherlock could hear him all the same.

“I warned you, Sherlock. I warned you I was going to burn your heart. I did tell you... - He stilled and then proceeded in a sing-song voice - but did you listen?”.

Sherlock's body was shaking with fury and disgust towards the man.

“I would try to convince you to switch to my side. But I'm sure everything I have to say on the matter has already crossed your mind! You can't be allowed to continue... - The evil mastermind said shaking his head ironically - You just can't.”

While talking he was pushing the grey-eyed man towards the precipice more and more.

“Now, shall we finish the game? One final act. - He smirked evilly - I told you I owed you a fall... and I'd be shattered if I had disappointed you in any way. So... Off you pop!”.

 

Sherlock had reached the brink by now. He couldn't do anything. His fall was fatal.

He prepared himself for the jump. His last thought for two blue eyes. And then...

 

♔♕♚♛

 

And then the tip of an arrow appeared between Moriarty's dark eyes: the shaft had transfixed his cranium, and a gush of blood was painting his forehead and his entire face. He fell on his knees, and crushed down folding back on himself in an unnatural position. Lifeless.

 

Sir Moran and Sherlock whirled around gasping. Moran was ready to throw an arrow against the attacker, but he wasn't fast enough.

Another arrow was shot and thrust itself exactly in Moran's heart. Like his master mere seconds before, Sebastian crumbled on the ground. With one last groan, he expired.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Sherlock raised hastily his eyes from the two still warm corpses to see who the shooter was.

 

John had just collapsed on his knees. He was grasping in one hand his stained robe, putting pressure on his wound, and in the other he had his bow. Next to him was resting Moran's arrow, which he had drawn from his abdomen, still encrusted with his own blood.

 

He had been the one to kill both Moriarty and Moran.

 

In a second Sherlock was at his side.

“John, John!” - He cried out, overwhelmed by fear.

The blond knight lifted his eyes, and endeavoured to soothe Sherlock with a smile. But a grunt of agony left his pale lips, while he crashed to the ground.

In the meantime the dark-haired prince had reached him, and had took him gently into his arms.

“John, how much pain are you in?” - Sherlock whispered not daring to jostle the other too much.

Silence.

John was still and cold like a marble statue.

“For God's sake answer me!” - Sherlock broke out.

The older man replied to that desperate plead by opening his eyelids only for a little bit.

“...'Lock, I'm sorry.” – He slurred with extreme effort.

He was just closing his eyes once again when Sherlock shook him firmly.

“No no no! You have to stay awake. - He whimpered, while rearranging John's heavy body in a more comfortable position between his arms - You can't leave me... Y-You can't... Have you understood? You are not allowed... Not when... not when... - He stuttered, fighting against a knot in his throat - Not when I've just realised I'm in love with you.”

More tears than he had ever shed in his entire life were leaving his eyes and staining his distressed face.

“Please, John, forgive me... for all the hurt that I've caused you.”.

 

Sherlock was shaking with violent sobs, so he didn't notice John had gathered all his remaining strength to lift his right hand. He laid it on Sherlock's cheek softly. The other man gasped fiercely, but silenced himself suddenly when he realised John wanted to tell him something.

“You were the best and the wisest man... that I have ever known.” - He was speaking weakly, more breaths leaving his mouth than words. It was difficult to discern what he was saying over the thunderous roar of the near waterfall. Nevertheless Sherlock grasped every single word, his eyes closed while he imprinted John's entire speech in a special room of his Mind Palace. Then he looked at John, sniffing, his eyes of ever-changing colour wide and swollen with tears. John sighed, resting his head on his shoulder before raising it once more as if abruptly recalling something of importance he needed to say.

“And yes, of course I forgive you. - He coughed, a drop of blood ending on his bottom lip. - I had already forgiven you... even before leaving the castle”.

His eyes filled with a thick milky mist. But he managed to perk up, and carried on with his speech.

“I was so alone, and I owe you so much.” - He murmured with half-closed eyes, giving up for just a moment the fighting against the dark voice that was tempting him to drown into the eternal void.

 

But he hadn't finished yet. He struggled a bit and finally opened his eyes widely. He fixed his two deep-blue wells, filled with pain and with death premonition, into Sherlock's ever-changing ones, now glittered with unshed tears.

“Your eyes are shining like the stars in the night sky... - He lifted once again his hand (fallen from Sherlock's face some minutes before) and put it in Sherlock's thick curls, bringing him nearer his own face. He stared some more into those two eyes and then mumbled with a tired grin on his white lips: “They are my personal two stars...”

“Yes, John – Sherlock choked out, wiping away from John's pale cheeks the tears that have fallen (he didn't know if John's or his own). - They are YOUR stars. But you have to live to… to continue to look into them.”

John nodded, but it was clear he was doing it only to soothe Sherlock, and not because he truly believed he could outlive this misadventure.

 

Sherlock during all this conversation had never ceased to put pressure on John's wound. But all of a sudden an idea struck his mind, and he left John on the ground, lifting himself to a standing position. He pulled out three little sachets from his left pocket, took three of John's remaining arrows and his bow, and tied one bag to each arrow. Then he grabbed two flints from his right pocket, crouched on the ground, and ignited the three sachets. Swiftly he stood up, shooting the three arrows in a close series.

Each one of them burst out with a deafening explosion in the clear sky.

 

After less then thirty seconds, the two princes could hear the alarm bell of the castle chiming insistently.

 

They were coming to save them.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

Sherlock hastily drew himself closer to John, taking him in his arms once more. John, though, didn't seem to notice the change much. His conditions were worsening rapidly.

“What was that? - John mumbled unexpectedly in a moment of lucidity after some minutes.

“Just one of my little experiments.” - Sherlock answered softly.

“Mmh”.

 

John was just closing his eyes one more time, when the dark-haired man panicked and, in one last attempt to keep the other talking, blurted out the question that had been tormenting him since John's sacrifice.

“Why have you done that?”.

John, clearly surprised, answered in a disbelieving tone: “Haven't you already realised that? I have found my freedom, too... - He coughed, blood escaping his lips once again and landing on his marble-white lips. - It's YOU”.

Sherlock wasn't able to contain a loud sob from escaping his mouth. Looking at John he shouted, pain crushing his heart: “But which kind of liberty can you ever find now? Liberty in death?” - He snarled, crying relentlessly.

“As you have said, anyone owns his destiny and can do whatever they want with it. – John whispered (barely audible), smiling fondly at Sherlock – And I decided to give you mine.”

He was even paler than before. All his strength had left his limbs, and his voice was getting weaker and weaker every passing second.

 

“I love you too, 'Lock... Always.” - John managed to utter before unconsciousness finally claimed him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it until next week. Chapter 8 is the last one, the epilogue of the whole story.
> 
> Comments and kudos are more than appreciated! ;)


	8. Chapter 8

“After about five minutes from my signal with the three arrows, a retinue of knights had reached our location. - Sherlock was recounting the facts in a toneless voice. – Sir Lestrade was one of those. He believed I had come too late to prevent John's suicide and had only been able to watch the catastrophe in front of my own eyes. He had therefore rushed with ten of Mycroft's men towards the place they had seen the alarm was coming from. Unexpectedly Lady Hudson was a member of that little entourage, too. She had stubbornly raised her skirt and mounted on horseback before anyone had dared to stop her. - Sherlock paused, took a deep breath, and carried on in his recounting – When they arrived to the clearing and saw the gory scene, they all thought it was m-my f-fault the others had d-died. - At his faltering a hand squeezed Sherlock's one in a reassuring way. - But when they finally understood what had actually happened, a whirlwind of activity displayed in front of my bleary eyes... while I stood there, on my knees... clinging to John... completely powerless. Lady Hudson   
was the first to near us, in order to attend to John's terrible wound. ”

 

♔♕♚♛ FLASHBACK ♔♕♚♛

 

“Sherlock, dear, what happened?” - Lady Hudson was eyeing him carefully, as if fearing a violent reaction from him.

But Sherlock wasn't capable of backfiring anymore: he seemed to have lost all his strength and energy after John's last words, leaving him like a vessel void of essence. After a while he managed however to stutter in a convulsed way: “John had been... John had been... They shot him in the lower abdomen, Hudders. He has lost so much blood... so much...” - The last words were nearly drowned by his violent sobs. He raised his hands to cover his eyes from the external scrutiny, not wanting anyone seeing him so weak. But when he realised their unusual deep shade of red was actually due to John's blood, a fierce gasp shook him. He tried to scratch those hateful stains from himself with his nails, leaving red angry scrapes on his milky and delicate skin.

Gently Lady Hudson blocked him from harming himself more. She took his trembling hands in her smooth ones, fixed him with a soothing glare and said: “It's all going to be fine. All is going to end well. You must have faith, Sherlock”.

Getting a weak nod from the man, she seemed satisfied for the moment. She then turned hastily to John, assessing his vitals.

“Bring me water from that waterfall, young men, and the bandages and creams from my bag” - She ordered in a very firm voice.

At the knights' scandalised faces in receiving orders from a woman, she impatiently answered: “Come on! Quickly! Haven't your mothers taught you manners? Oh, young people today!”.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

“It was an hour of constant touch-and-go. - Sherlock's voice had lowered to an almost inaudible volume – John didn't regain consciousness anymore after our last speech. He was only shouting in pain, and mumbling incoherent words from time to time. - The reassuring hand, meanwhile, hadn't ceased its soothing movement, rubbing Sherlock's knuckles and creating intricate figures on the back of his hand. - After we managed to stabilise the bloodloss, Lady Hudson and I decided it was better to bring him to the castle, where we could attend to him with more suitable supplies.”

Sherlock looked at the ground, lost for a minute in his inner turmoil.

“It was the worst night of my life... Mycroft provided us a spacious room near the infirmary, with a large quantity of bandages, water, other needed stuff, and two beds, so I would have been able to stay at John's side for as much time as it pleased me. I didn't leave the room even for a second that night. Unconsciousness and delirium were still claiming John. And at dawn he had a very bad crisis...” - His voice died down slowly, until only silence remained to fill the air.

 

♔♕♚♛ FLASHBACK ♔♕♚♛

 

John's body started to shake uncontrollably. He was grunting in pain, and choking on his own saliva.

Sherlock stood up immediately from the chair he had placed at the bed's feet and yelled in panic: “Hudders... Hudders!”.

 

Lady Hudson came inside the room running from her adjacent chamber, still in her pink nightgown.

Noticing what John was suffering she expeditiously lifted his chest and began patting his back with force.

“Oh dear! Fetch me that jar, Sherlock. Quick!”.

 

The young prince didn't recognize the liquid inside that bottle, but apparently it was the right thing to administer to John. The blond knight's moans of agony halted, and he fell again into a restless slumber.

 

Sherlock was still watching him, deathly pale and with trembling lips.

 

“Are you sure you don't want anything? Perhaps a bowl of broth? Mmh?” - The elder woman asked, hoping for a positive answer.

“No, no. I don't need anything” - He muttered sternly.

“Sherlock, you have to eat and sleep. You can't go on like this. - She scolded him for the thousandth time; then her eyes became soft. – John wouldn't want you to starve and strain yourself like this!”

“If that's true, he can wake up and tell me for himself” - Sherlock muttered darkly.

 

He placed himself once again in his chair near John's bed.

He was staring fixedly at the other's face, almost without blinking. After a while he hesitantly raised his hands and put John's nearest one into them.

They looked like two statues.

Both motionless and, to all appearances, lifeless.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

“I can't recall how many hours I spent vigilant at John's bedside, careful to notice even the slightest change in his conditions. In the end sleep took me... I didn't know what I would have found at my awakening... My dreams were full of dark, blood, and screams of pain...”

 

♔♕♚♛ FLASHBACK ♔♕♚♛

 

It was late morning. Sunbeams were filtering through the thick curtains of the room fixed for the two princes. A soft snore could be heard among the twitters of the birds nesting in the oak tree near the window.

It was coming from Sherlock, who was finally sleeping.

 

Another noise could however be heard distinctively coming from the large room: a gentle stroking, as if someone was moving an arm repeatedly, and rubbing against the sheet in the process.

 

Sherlock was in the meantime opening his eyes, grunting and closing them suddenly for the too bright light. His back was all stiff, his eyes encrusted with dried tears, his mouth held a bitter taste, and his stomach was grumbling, reminding him he hadn't eaten in two days (Transport!).

Yet he didn't want to move. He was in a very cozy position: his head was laying on a soft pillow (or wasn't it a pillow?), and a hand was stroking his hair tenderly. Even if he didn't know whose hand was that, the caress was so loving and soft he didn't dare to dislodge himself from that blissful bubble.

 

However, everything that had happened the previous day and night recurred abruptly to him. He leaped in the air, and turned towards the occupant of the bed with warm hope in his heart.

 

John was grinning at him with a tired yet gleaming smile.

His eyes were red and swollen, and dark circles had formed under them. His complexion was white as the sheet he was laying on.

But he was ALIVE! Life had at last returned to shine in his gorgeous eyes.

 

“John you're awake!” - Sherlock exclaimed bewildered.

The blond man only nodded, but with glint in his eyes.

“And you are alive!”

“Stating the obvious now, Sherlock?”

John couldn't help but chuckle at the other's instant pout.

“Yes, yes. – John said, washing away the young man's pout in a second with only his words – I am awake and alive. Thanks to the great expertise of you and Lady Hudson, I presume”.

 

Sherlock blushed sheepishly at the implied praise, and then couldn't contain himself anymore. He jumped on John's form, and kissed him breathlessly. They had to stop soon: too soon according to Sherlock's opinion, but John was still extremely weak and Sherlock didn't want to worsen his health in any possible way.

After they broke apart, Sherlock resumed his previous position with his head pillowed on the other's chest. Seeking a bit for a comfortable position, he finally put his ear exactly over John's heart. The steady beat was a constant reminder that it wasn't just a dream, washing away even the last remnant of his dread. With the reassuring pulse in his ears, he needed only one more thing from John to be completely at ease... But when the other prince didn't immediately restart his stroking, with a gesture of his head he prompted him to do so (as soon as possible, thank you). John eagerly complied with a soft chuckle, eliciting a delighted purr from Sherlock's mouth.

They stood like that, enjoying the moment, finally at peace after so many distressful hours (or better, days).

 

 

“Sherlock, what is this story Lady Hudson was telling me earlier that you refuse to eat and sleep? - John broke the comfortable silence after some time – Have I to begin controlling you minutely from now on?”

 

Sherlock, in spite of what it was usual to expect from him, didn't answer with a rude comment, but sighed happily...

His John was finally back!

 

♔♕♚♛

 

“Ahem”

John had decided to interrupt Sherlock's silence after it had stressed out for more than five minutes. He squeezed once again the dark-haired prince's hand he had clasped in his ones, and attempted to lighten up the heavy atmosphere.

 

“Yes... yes, it's true it was a bad night. But as you were telling in the end I woke up... and I was feeling a lot better. At first it wasn't easy. – He clarified to their heedful listener, frowning at the memory – The pain was very strong and, as much as I wanted to heal quickly, the wound persisted in opening itself again and again, tons of times”.

 

Sherlock hearing that remembrance shuddered, but John brought his left hand to his nape, stroking his curls in the soothing manner which during those months he had come to learn Sherlock adored.

 

“Fortunately Sherlock and Lady Hudson created a new formula of my cicatrising ointment, stronger than the one they had already tried on me. After that turning point, things got really easier and my conditions improved very fast: in a week I was able to sit up on my own and walk back and forth across the room. In two weeks I could dare to take small strolls in the lawn right outside the castle. And after three weeks I managed to venture into the near woods, and see the fatal clearing and waterfall”.

“Always under my careful supervision, of course” - Sherlock interjected in a matter-of-fact voice.

“Of course - John snickered jovially, and then continued in his retelling of the facts – Well, three months after my injury we felt time had come to... No, wait. The truth is: Sherlock decided...”.

“John, three months had already passed. – The younger man interrupted him in an exasperated tone, as if they had held that same conversation many times before (they had). – You were feeling better, Mycroft was getting even more insufferable than usual, and...”

“And...?” - John hinted at Sherlock's brusque cutoff.

The prince sighed deeply, rolling his eyes, before finishing the sentence.

“And I couldn't live one more second without having you as my husband alongside me” - He mumbled with a scarlet face, staring at his John.

 

The blond knight teared up a bit at the reminder of the best day in his life.

He laid his head on Sherlock's left shoulder affectionately, hiding his glassy eyes.

 

♔♕♚♛ FLASHBACK ♔♕♚♛

 

Bells were ringing in the Baker S clan castle. Mycroft was waiting under an arch, made with oak branches intertwined with bluebells. John was fidgeting next to him: he was displaying a new sparkling attire (naturally chosen by his betrothed). Black narrow trousers, shining leather boots of the same colour, a dark cloak and a cerulean robe under it... the exact same colour of bluebells... so, the same shade of his eyes (according to Sherlock at least).

 

At a pre-fixed signal Sherlock appeared near the castle gate, and started to advance dressed in John's same outfit, apart from the colour of his robe. Its tonality was between light blue and grey, but it changed continuously shade with how the sunbeams struck it. At every step it looked different (as did Sherlock's eyes, John would remark if questioned on the matter).

 

The guests were a small number, considering the two grooms' social status. However the two princes had longed for an intimate ceremony, because they didn't want to make a fuss out of it.

Mycroft, Anthea, Lady Hudson, and Wiggins were there for Sherlock (but during John's recovery process they had all come to love the foreign knight, too). On John's side there were Sir Lestrade (who had reconciled with Sherlock after their little misunderstanding), Sir Murray (another knight under the Watsons' command), Sir Sholto (John's old master in bowing), and... King Clarence and Harriet!

Harriet was actually sober: she had been for three months already... She hadn't wanted to touch even a drop of alcohol after the fright for his brother's second near-death.

 

The service was short, but very touching. Lady Hudson sniffed through the whole function. John shed some tears (especially during their vows). Even Mycroft (Anthea noted) had glassy eyes at the end. But the real surprise was Sherlock's endless stream of tears!

 

THAT moment - both the newly husbands thought - was true bliss.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

“... And after the ceremony – Sherlock was continuing undaunted with his tale – John and I left the castle for two weeks in order to celebrate properly our special holiday of interco...”

“But! – John interrupted him swiftly, red in the face – But we don't have to tell him that, do we?”

Sherlock was looking at him confused. He bent his head to one side and frowned, suspicious of John's true motives.

John ignored Sherlock's silent plea for a justification about his avoiding of that particular topic, and diverted the conversation on another (safer) subject.

“Why don't you tell him about our new home, instead? And about our future plans?”.

His husband's frown dissipated in an instant at that mention and, grinning widely, he resumed his talking.

“Oh, yes. For our marriage King Clarence has given us a wonderful mansion where we are going to live from now on. As for our future projects, we are going to solve mysteries, chase criminals... and essentially be the first two consulting detectives in the entire world!”.

“And we're going to be two beekeepers in our free time. Don't forget it, love” - John added in a delighted tone.

 

Sherlock could only blush hearing those words: he remembered vividly the fantastic gift John had prepared for him that first time they had seen their new home.

 

♔♕♚♛ FLASHBACK ♔♕♚♛

 

“John – Sherlock was whining loudly - why do I have to keep this blindfold on my eyes? Haven't we reached my surprise yet?”

“Patience, Sherlock. We're nearly there, but you have to wait just a little bit more”.

“I am patient” - An impatient Sherlock exclaimed without patience, his bottom lip leaning forward.

“Clearly, love. - John giggled, looking fondly at his husband. - But I can recall very distinctly you burning your tongue three weeks ago when you couldn't wait and tasted my still piping hot honey treats” - He finished, raising both his eyebrows.

“It was only a very small miscalculation from my part” - Sherlock remarked stiffly.

“Yes! And you only complained for a week after that!”

 

Sherlock turned towards him and, even though he was still wearing the blindfold, John would have sworn he was eyeing him grumpily.

“Don't pout, love. - John soothed him – I'm only teasing you.”

The pout subsided a bit.

 

“Anyway – John said while taking the thick cloth away from Sherlock's eyes – we've arrived”.

Sherlock was still adjusting his sight to the sun light, when he noticed four odd boxes at the edge of the clearing they were in. He tried to put them into focus and...

 

They were four beehives! There were bees buzzing noisily around them, and other ones were moving among the flowers. All around the beehives there were several flower beds, all containing a different species of them: roses of all the possible colours, lilies, violets, lavender, mauve, heather... There was even a spot with rosemary and sage. But the biggest and most well-treated bed was the one filled with bluebells: Sherlock's favourites.

 

The dark-haired man didn't know what to say, how to express his gratitude. He turned towards John with an amazed expression, asking implicitly for an explanation.

“I've been pondering our old conversations during the competition. – John started to mumble sheepishly – And I thought... I thought I could at least make this one of your dreams true. I know it's not much but... - At Sherlock's persistent lack of reaction the blond prince was overflown by panic – If you don't like them, I can have them taken awa...”.

 

But he couldn't finish because Sherlock had crashed him to the ground, making them fall together among the scented flowers.

 

“Are you making a habit out of interrupting my speeches by jumping on me?” - A breathless John asked to Sherlock, who was perched comfortably on his chest.

“Maybe... - His husband grinned mischieviously, raising one of his eyebrows – Are you complaining?”.

“Not in the least” - The other smiled broadly.

 

“However, the point I'm trying to make – Sherlock whispered in a teasing tone – is that you're a complete and utter idiot! - Then he became extremely serious – You have already given me my dreams. You must stop thinking you are restraining me in any way. You've already granted me my deepest wishes... and so much more”.

 

He laid his head on John's strong chest, pretending not to notice the tears staining the other's cheeks.

They stood there, lying on the ground and watching the clouds, which a light breeze was speeding away. John was stroking Sherlock's hair, while the grey-eyed prince was humming a sweet tune.

 

Then, all of a sudden, Sherlock lifted himself on his elbows, resting his chin on his husband's collarbone, looking at him gravely.

“You know I'm not kidding when I say those things, right? I don't regret my choice. The bond we have is not a restraint for me, but it's the thing that actually push me ahead, spurring me to be a better man.”

John stood there, staring at him stupidly. Then he frowned as if pondering that thought carefully. But finally his features relaxed, and a bright smile appeared on his face.

“Yes, I know” - He murmured, before claiming his husband's lips.

 

What had started as a soft and innocent peck soon turned into a genuine make-out session.

John tried to keep up with Sherlock's eagerness, but when the younger prince tried to roll fully on top of him he stopped the kiss and cried out: “Mmmh... 'Lock, it's not decent! We're in an open field!”

“Who cares about decent? - The other man huffed at him - I have four beehives, a detective career in front of me, and a wonderful husband! Oh, it's Christmas!”.

 

And he rolled on top of that said husband. Social conventions be damned.

 

♔♕♚♛

 

“I can see you're truly happy! Domestic bliss and all that!” - Mike Stamford chuckled very pleased, looking at his old friend and his newly-wed husband.

 

Mike Stamford was a healer, born in the UMQRA clan. John had befriended him during his time in the Holy Land. Mike, however, had to come home only after two months because of a serious infection he had developed in that foreign place. The two friends had reunited after John's return, but unfortunately the healer was just leaving for a mission in the south part of the kingdom.

Nevertheless, before abandoning the castle, they were able to refresh their acquaintance for some days. It was in one of those days Mike, trying to lighten John up, had suggested he participated at the competition offered by the Baker S clan.

 

“Oh, think only about the fact that if I haven't urged you to take part in that event you would have never met! - He exclaimed gesticulating at the couple with his hands. - I did tell you it was worth the long journey... and that you would win!”

“Yes, Mike. - John smirked – You were completely right! I managed to acquire a very special prince”.

“And I won back my destiny and my freedom... with a very nice Prince Charming in the packet too! - Sherlock cried out grinning cheerfully – How lucky I am!”

 

“Don't call me that!” - John yelled in return.

 

But his words faded in the laugh the three men were all sharing.

 

♔♕♚♛ THE END ♔♕♚♛

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! It has been a very long journey, but I really loved writing it. I hope someone will like this story ;)  
> Let me know your thoughts: I crave your comments!

**Author's Note:**

> So... this was only the beginning, but I hope you've liked it. Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> This story is already finished, so I'll post a chapter once a week after I've edited them. I promise I'll be precise, don't worry!
> 
> English is not my native language, so if you find any kind of mistake please let me know.  
> This is only my second fanfiction, and the longest thing I've ever written in my entire life.  
> Comments are of course welcome and criticism is more than fine, but please try not to be too harsh.
> 
> If you want to talk with me about this story or Sherlock or the Middle Ages (Hooray!) or something else, you can find me at eastwind221b.tumblr.com


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